Louanne Miller came in, sat down opposite, not talking, just watching the window, like always.
Walk flipped a page and stared at Star, her hair fanned behind, arm bent at an angle like she was reaching out for someone to help her.
“You need to tidy this office.” Louanne looked at the stacked papers, the mess all over.
“I want to talk to Darke myself.”
“Because you’ll do better than the state cops? You’re tough like that?”
“I’ve known Darke since—”
“Nothing, Walk. That’s what that means. Nothing. Look at Vincent King, and I see you looking his way, like you expect him to still be the kid that left here thirty years back. He’s gone, though, whatever you knew about him, it left him the day he stepped into Fairmont.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Serious, Walk. I know you didn’t change. But everyone else did.”
Out the window Walk saw the colors too bright, blues and white, polished glass and bleached flags.
“So what else is there?” she said.
“Burglary. The place was trashed.”
“But nothing missing. More like a fight that got out of hand.”
“Milton’s lying.”
“No good reason for that.”
“Let’s go burglary. Could be Star disturbed them,” he said, again reaching, so far he almost stumbled over his words.
“All of this, what you’re saying, you have to discount the fact that we found a man, sitting in the house, her blood on his shirt, his prints all over everything, possible motive.”
“No way,” he fired back quick.
“And yet here we are. On a hunch.”
“Vincent won’t say a word. He won’t say why, he won’t say how he got in, what time it happened. Shit, he called it in himself. From their phone.”
“He was vicious. Star … how many ribs did he break? You’ve got the photos in front of you.”
He looked at them again, the marks angry across her chest, blue to purple, streaks upon broken bones. There was feeling involved, a kind of hatred so hot Walk could feel it searing.
“And the swelling by her eye.”
“He’s there, however he got in, no sign of a break-in. She invites him in, something happens. He beats her. Shoots her dead. Runs, hides the weapon, returns and sits down in the kitchen, calls it in. And waits for us. The kid, Robin, he’s locked in his bedroom, mercifully, but there’s a chance he heard something.”
Walk stood and opened the window to the call of another perfect morning. An hour or two at his desk, that’s all he could ever take.
“I need to talk to Darke,” he said again. “There’s history with Star. He’s violent.”
“Alibi is tight.”
“That’s why I’ve called her in.”
“Boyd said to leave it alone. Don’t fuck with a state case.”
Walk took a deep breath, everything swimming, nothing clear at all, other than the fact he knew Vincent. No matter what Louanne said. He knew Vincent King. Fuck the thirty years, he knew his friend.
“You need to shave, Walk.”
“So do you.”
She laughed at that. And then Leah called through, and told him Dee Lane was waiting.
He found her at the desk, then led her through to the compact office in the back. A small table, four chairs and a wide vase bursting with Vendela roses. View out over Main, more grandmother’s guesthouse than interrogation room.
Dee looked better than the last time he’d seen her. She wore a simple yellow summer dress and her hair was styled. A little makeup, just enough to push the soft in front of the hard. She carried a paper bag and handed it over to him.
“Peach galettes,” she said by way of greeting. “I know how much you like them.”
“Thank you.”
He had no tape recorder, no pad or pen.
“I already spoke to the officers from state police.”
“I’m just running over things. You want a coffee?”
She dropped her shoulders a little. “Sure, Walk.”
He left her, found Leah and asked her to put a pot on. When he returned Dee was standing by the window.
“It looks different out there,” she said. “Main. The new stores and the new faces. I mean, it was gradual, right. You know about the application for new homes?”
“It won’t pass.”
She turned, sat again and crossed her legs. “You think I’m weak … with Darke.”
“Just trying to understand it.”
“He showed up, bought me flowers and told me he was sorry. One thing led to another.”
“Tell me how it started with him.”
“He came into the bank, opened a checking account. I thought he was … cute isn’t the right word to describe the guy. He was quiet but tough—Shit, Walk. I don’t know what to say. He came in a few more times, always got in my line. I asked him out. He said yeah. That’s how it goes, right?”
“Before, you said there was nothing natural about him.”
“I was pissed, the house. I was lashing out. I tell you one thing about him.”
“What?”
“He was good with my girls. Attentive. He used to watch them, push them on the swings, you know. Just be with them. One time I came in from the yard and found him with Molly on his lap. Watching a Disney movie. There’s not many guys that would take to another man’s kids.”
Leah brought the coffee and left them. His hand shook as he took his cup, so bad he set it down again.
“You alright, Walk? You look tired. And maybe you need a shave. I mean, no offence or nothing.”
“So he stayed all night. Darke?”
“I kicked him out early, before the girls got up.”
He slumped back in his chair, the tiredness washing over him, eyes dry and muscles aching.
“I know you don’t want to see it, Walk. Vincent and Star and all that. But Darke, the guy can be an asshole, but he’s not what you think he is. Or maybe what you want him to be.”
“What do I want him to be?”
“The guy that makes Vincent King innocent.”
* * *
When she was done with the corral she moved on to the stable, the smell of shit not so bad anymore. Two
