The Ridge

She stared at him. “From Wesley’s gun?”

“Maybe.” He didn’t look at her when he said it, though.

“Dustin,” she said, “do you think someone else shot my tiger?”

He still didn’t meet her eyes, just took his rake and returned to work.

“We’ll see what the police think,” he said.

Kimble had left Jacqueline abruptly, thanking her for her time like some door-to-door salesman who’d struck out badly but had to keep the false smile until he was out of sight. She hadn’t even responded, just watched sadly as he stood up to go.

“You wanted to know the truth,” she said as the CO opened the door for him.

Yes, he had. And the truth was that several years of his life had vanished into a fantasy image of a woman who belonged in the state hospital, not the prison.

He picked up his phone as soon as he got into the car, began to make calls about work, real work, determined not only to make up for lost time but to force his mind away from her and back into the world of real problems that needed real solutions. Back into his world.

His first call was to the department’s evidence tech, to see whether the medical examiners had come through on Kimble’s request and retrieved the bullet from the tiger.

They had.

“Looks like a .223,” the tech told him. “We can of course do more specific ballistics if you need them, but I can tell you the caliber right now. That mean anything to you?”

It meant plenty.

The gun in Wesley Harrington’s hand on the night of his death did not fire .223 cartridges.

Kimble thanked them, hung up, and called Shipley.

“You still out there?”

“Yes, sir. No sign of the cat. Everything’s been peaceful.”

“Listen, I just got a match back on the bullet that killed the cat. It wasn’t fired from Harrington’s gun.”

Silence.

“We’re looking at a very different scene now,” Kimble said, “and it is important that we handle it right. This thing is not what it appears to be. Harrington did not shoot that cat. If anything, he probably went in there because the cat had been shot, and that makes it a crime scene, and a serious one.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Well, without alarming Mrs. Clark—I’ll deal with that when we have to—I want you and Pete to begin looking aggressively for signs of—”

“Pete found a spent casing.”

“What?”

“Not too far back from the fence line, toward the old railroad tracks.”

“Is it a .223?”

“My opinion? Yes. Probably fired from an AR-15 or, more likely, one of the clones, the cheap knockoffs.”

This was serious. This was very serious. Someone had gone down there and shot at the cats, which was a major crime on its own terms, but it had also led to the death of Wesley Harrington. You’d probably have to call it involuntary manslaughter…

Unless it was involuntary cat slaughter, he thought. Just because the cat was hit doesn’t mean the cat was the target. Shooting in the dark like that, it would be tough to hit a man. And in that place, any bullet that sailed by would have a good chance of finding a five-hundred-pound feline. In which case, Kimble, you could be looking at attempted murder.

“All right,” he said, when he realized the pause had gone on too long. “Listen—I want somebody on security out there tonight.”

“Here. At night?”

“Yes, Shipley, what the hell is the problem? You act like you’re scared of the dark out there. Been talking to Wyatt French?” Kimble’s frustration had been massing since he walked out of the prison, away from Jacqueline’s story, and now Shipley was catching it.

“I’m not scared to be out here,” he said in a clipped voice. “You just tell me the hours.”

“Break it up into shifts. You work until midnight, then let Pete take it. Sound fair enough? I know you’ve been going all day. You want it changed, or you want some relief, then—”

“I’ll do it.”

“Thanks, Shipley,” he said, trying to ease off. “They know you out there now, and I think that will help.”

“What am I supposed to tell them?”

“Tell them I’ve asked that someone remain on duty in case the cougar comes back. Put all the weight of it on that black cat, okay? Why not use the creepy bastard, since we’ve got him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep a sharp eye out there. It’s a damn strange place.”

“It certainly is,” Shipley said.

Kimble hung up and started the engine, ready to get back on the road, back home, ready to get moving through a life that he’d been treading water in since a summer night five years earlier. It was time.

He drove fast on his way out, but there was a coal train coming through and he couldn’t beat it, caught the intersection just as the gate lowered, pinning him impatiently in place, engine idling, unable to rid the prison from his rearview mirror.

22

THE POLICE TOLD AUDREY they would keep a man on the grounds overnight. It was the young deputy, Shipley, who informed them, and Dustin Hall shook his head as if he wasn’t happy with the news. Shipley caught the gesture and fell silent, staring Dustin down. There was something remarkably cold in the stare.

Audrey said, “It’s fine. It’s great. I appreciate the gesture. If you see the cat, please come for me first, though. Don’t just open fire.”

“If it’s possible to alert you, we will,” Shipley said. “Our safety will be first, the cat’s will be second. You have to understand that.”

“What did you find out there?” Dustin asked.

“Find?” Shipley raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah. You put something in a bag. Was it a bullet?”

Shipley looked at him for a long time, then back to Audrey, and smiled. “Didn’t know you’d hired one of the Hardy Boys. He’ll be good to have around.”

She didn’t think it was an appropriate time to joke, and said as much. The smile bled off Nathan Shipley’s face and his blue eyes went cold again and he said, “Absolutely right. Someone was killed here last night. I don’t find that amusing. I’m of course in no position to reveal details of police work to Mr. Hall here. Chief Deputy Kimble can decide what he wants to share, and when. In the meantime, we’ll be here for your protection.”

She thanked him, and he went off to his vehicle, slid behind the wheel, and picked up the radio unit.

Dustin Hall, who was suddenly her most experienced staff member, told Audrey that he would replace Wesley on the property. To say that he was a brave kid was an understatement—this morning he’d discovered a good friend’s body, and tonight he was already trying to step in to fill the void. She couldn’t let him stay there, though.

“Go back home and get some sleep,” she said. “I’ll need you early, and need you strong. Okay?”

He frowned, watching Shipley. “I’d just as soon stay out here, Audrey. I feel like that’s where the need is.”

“Dustin? I know what I’m doing with the cats. I’ve got a police officer on the grounds all night, protecting me. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“All right.”

“We’ll stick it out,” she told Dustin. “We’ll be fine.”