Envy the Night

morning.

“I cannot believe he had the balls,” Devin said when Nora was done, his voice barely audible. “That cocksucker . . . he planned it for a while. Spent some real time on it. Had a story ready for her. And I’m laying in the hospital and he’s up here with my wife.”

He banged the butt of his gun against the van, then again, and again, until the effort took his strength and he had to wait a minute to get it back, hanging against the door.

“You thought she left you for him?” Frank said, and Devin’s eyes slid unpleasantly back to him. “That’s why you didn’t name the shooter for the police? You thought she was involved?”

Devin waited for a moment, then said, “I wanted to conduct my own investigation. That’s all.”

“Then how did these two”—Frank nodded at the other men—“get here before you?”

“I sent them. When they told me he’d come here, I left so I could see it to the end in person.”

“If this is the truth,” Nora said, and her voice was wavering, “then why did you bastards have to kill Jerry? Why did you have to do that? You knew Vaughn was going to that island!”

“Unfortunately,” Devin said, nothing showing in his bleary eyes, “I was out of communication with these two for a while. So they had to keep following the trail.”

That justified it to him. It was enough. Frank looked at Nora, saw the shock and horror in her face, and wondered if she understood what else this meant. She was playing Jerry’s role now: a liability.

“They’re on that island?” Devin said, ignoring her question, stepping away from the van again, closer to Frank. “They’re on my island? Vaughn and my wife?”

Frank nodded.

“Who’s with them?”

He didn’t say anything. Neither did Nora. But Devin stared into Frank’s eyes and said, “Ballard. He’s out there with them, isn’t he?”

Frank still didn’t respond, but Devin was nodding his head, already convinced.

“Okay,” he said. “AJ, King, get them in the van. We’re close, boys. We’re close.”

29

__________

Past Madison and gaining on Stevens Point, maybe two hours away if he could keep this speed up. Grady was driving hard and staring at the clock, willing it to tick a little slower.

He wanted to call Frank, see if the kid had his phone on today, if he’d answer. There was news to share, damn it. Atkins hadn’t been kidding when he said he’d press charges over another phone call, though, and Grady had the sense that Frank was done talking to him anyhow. He had a plan of some sort, was putting something in motion.

If Duncan was good for the murder, as the fingerprint suggested, then this thing was shaping up exactly as Grady had feared: Devin Matteson was headed out to that lake to settle the score, and Frank Temple had placed himself in the way.

By the time he passed the first exit for Stevens Point he couldn’t wait for news anymore, grabbed the phone and called Atkins again.

“He’s still gone,” Atkins said, without bothering to exchange a greeting. “I’ve also tried to find the guy you mentioned, Ballard, but he’s MIA as well. Thing is, there’s a boat down here now.”

“Where?”

“At Temple’s cabin. There was a small boat the first time I came out, little aluminum thing, but now there’s a fancy bass boat on the beach. I called in to check the numbers, and it comes back to Ballard.”

“But they’re not inside.”

“No, they’re not inside,” Atkins snapped, his tone icy. “There was a truck here this morning, too, registered to that girl at the body shop, and now that’s gone and this damn boat is here and none of them are where I can find them. This is fantastic, Morgan. I’ve got a murder warrant ready to go, and these assholes know where the guy is, and now I can’t find them.”

“You got anybody else involved?”

“Couple of the locals are running around, trying to turn the girl up. Said she was just in at some nursing home visiting her father, so I guess she’s all right. But I’m the only one out here at the lake.”

“You probably ought to have some help.”

“I’ll get help when I find out where the son of a bitch is, Morgan. And I can’t do that until your buddy shows his face again.”

“Wait there,” Grady said. “If Ballard’s boat is there, they’ll probably be coming back to it.”

“I’m going to wait for maybe twenty minutes, and then I’m going back to check Ballard’s house. But I’ll give it another twenty.”

Devin Matteson made them all ride in the van, first instructing Nora to write a note that said, Out of gas, back soon, please don’t tow, for display in the windshield of her truck. She hadn’t thought much of it then, but after she was in the van and they were in motion, the note began to disturb her. It would keep anyone who found the truck from immediate concern and imply that Nora had been under her own power when she left the vehicle behind. Those were only temporary effects, of course, but the fact that Devin had considered them made something bitter bloom in her stomach. He was good at these things, kidnapping and murder, so good that the little moves like that note came to him effortlessly, it seemed. Came the way things did after a lot of practice.

AJ was driving and sat alone in the front, Nora in the middle row beside Devin Matteson, Frank all the way in back with the man called King. Devin and King and AJ were all wearing guns. AJ had two, actually; he’d paused long enough to take Frank’s gun out of the truck before they left. It lay on the floor in front of the passenger seat now. She could hear it slide around when they took sharp curves.

Devin Matteson’s true condition began to show itself during the van ride. He’d looked bad initially, unhealthy, but once they were in the van Nora saw that he’d held it together well for that first encounter. Now he seemed to struggle with every turn and bend, wincing at the motions, patting his chest lightly with his hand. By the time they’d gone five miles his face was bathed in sweat, his breathing audible across the van.

There was nothing between her and the end of this but twenty minutes in the van, another twenty in a boat. The fear should have been intense, cloaking her, forcing her into hysterical sobbing. That seemed right, at least. Instead, she was just sitting here, swaying gently with the van’s motion, listening to the rasping breaths of the man with the gun beside her, numb.

They were going to die. While she believed the story Devin had told, at least the portion about Vaughn, she couldn’t believe that meant any change in her fate. She’d seen these men face-to-face, watched them commit crimes. After all that, they weren’t going to simply head home after finding Vaughn, trusting that she and Frank would pretend none of this had happened.

So we’re going to die. She almost nodded as if confirming the silent, internal voice. It was true. If things went according to plan for these men, there would be more killing before the end of the day, and it wasn’t going to stop with Vaughn.

All this over a murder, she thought. No, wait, it wasn’t even a murder. He didn’t kill Devin, he just tried. And now how many others will die because of that? How many innocent people are going to atone for one man’s attempted killing?

The interior of the van darkened as they drove north, the sun pushed beneath ivory clouds that looked a good deal more ominous to the west. She watched the shadows play across the seats and tried to think of a way to stop this. The moves that came to mind were all in hindsight, though, things she could have done and had chosen not to do. Atkins of the FBI sat somewhere in Tomahawk, awaiting her call. If she’d called him instead of getting in the boat with Frank and Ezra . . .

Ezra. The thought of him was the closest thing to comfort she could come up with. He was capable, always in control, and, if what Frank had said about him was true, the sort of man who could deal