She kissed him then. Her first kiss, and his. His lips were cold, his nose cold on her cheek. He was too startled to kiss her back. She broke it and turned back to the frozen pond.
“Shut up,” she said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
They breathed mist.
“Hal said we begin at the end.”
“So where are we now?”
“I’m not sure it matters.”
“Wherever it is, I hope we can stay here a little longer.”
They held hands a while, then stood and walked back down the yard, spring buried so deep. In the house was her suitcase and her brother and she had nothing else in the world. She could not decide if that made her free or so terribly cursed.
Thomas Noble pulled his bicycle from the gate and dusted snow from the saddle.
“How did you find me?” she said, as she handed his coat back.
“My mother was talking to your case worker.”
“Right.”
He climbed on the bike.
“Hey. Why did you come here tonight?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“And? I can read you. Tell me.”
“I’m looking for him. Darke. Every day after school I ride to the Radley farm and walk the woodland.”
“Could be you’ll find a body.”
“I sure hope so.”
He freewheeled to the end of the Price driveway. She followed him out into the street. Mailboxes neatly lined, each had a family name painted on. Cooper and Lewis and Nelson. Robin liked to read the names, to see himself inside.
“Thomas Noble.”
He stopped, leaned on one foot and looked back over his shoulder.
She raised a hand.
He raised his own.
When she got back to their room she found Robin crying, scooted back against the wall, his head in his hands.
“What is it?”
“Where were you?” he spoke between sobs.
“Thomas Noble came here.”
“The bed.”
She looked over at the balled sheet.
“The bed is wet,” he said, distraught. “I had a dream about that night. I heard things. I heard voices.”
She pulled him close and kissed his head. Then she helped him out of his shorts and T-shirt, put him in the bathtub and washed him.
When she was done she dressed him in clean pajamas and laid him in her bed. He was sleeping by the time she got to work stripping the mattress down.
* * *
Walk lay in his bed wrestling with facts he already knew. Dickie Darke had lied about his alibi the night Star was murdered. Milton had paid him a visit, maybe the two had gone hunting but Walk didn’t buy it. Milton was missing, Walk had stopped by his place and found it in darkness. There was no one he could check in with, no motel or anything. Milton camped, hunted, moved through the acres in the kind of solitude he couldn’t bear in the Cape.
An hour from dawn he stood and dressed, drank coffee then climbed into the car and drove to Cedar Heights.
No one worked the gatehouse during night hours, so Walk left the cruiser beneath trees that swayed against lightening sky, crossed the driveway and stepped through the smaller gate to the side.
No life in any of the houses, not even the place across the street. He moved without care, head up, no doubt caught on the cameras. He did not know if it was the lack of sleep or the way his body tremored but that morning he did not give a shit for the trouble he was inviting.
He moved down the side of the house, opened the gate and stepped into the yard, and then stalled when he saw it. The back door, a single pane of glass missing, removed with great care, no noise at all. He thought of the men looking for Darke as he reached in and turned the handle.
No sign of anything as he moved through the house, TV off, plastic fruit in the bowl, up the stairs and through the bedrooms, made up like a perfect family had stepped out for an hour so interested parties could get a look at their lives.
He checked beneath the bed, pulled the sheets back and then tossed the pillow to the floor. And then he saw it, far out of place. Right there in the bed, a sweater, small and pink. A girl’s sweater. He thought of bagging it, taking it, and then explaining it to Boyd. He left it, but made a note in his pad so he’d remember.
And then the flash of lights.
He ducked low, moved to the window and heard the car idle. He risked a look, different sedan but same two, the bearded guy rolled the window down, lit by the glow from his cigarette. He stared at the house.
Walk counted off the beats of his heart.
Fifteen minutes till they backed up, turned and slowly rolled away. He got the plates, for what it was worth.
Back in the kitchen he switched on the lights and searched every cupboard.
He almost missed it.
Down on his knees he checked the tiles.
No doubt it was blood.
It took three hours to get a tech van over, and that was all on favor. Tana Legros had been at the end of her shift when he called. Walk had once busted her son smoking weed at a party he broke up on Fallbrook. He’d recognized the kid’s surname and driven him home instead of writing him up. Tana would be grateful till the day she died.
Once Moses arrived at the gatehouse Walk tried to liaise with the guy, but found the easiest way to deal with his questions was to slip him a twenty.
He ventured through to the back where he found the small office. The computer was plastic, hollow, as fake as the ideal.
Tana came, one other guy with her, young and methodical and eager. The guy stood back and raised an eyebrow as Tana lowered her mask. She pointed in the
