Dawn broke over the Calasade Highway, Walk was so tired he veered over the double-yellows till Martha reached over and gently tugged the wheel.
“You should’ve pulled over.”
“I’m straight.”
On the Silver Falls Highway they watched the sun creep from the hills and color farmland a dozen greens. At a diner they ate eggs and bacon and drank coffee so strong Walk felt it sharpen him right up again.
“It’s not far,” Martha said, looking at the map spread out across the table.
They were headed to Unity, a private healthcare facility in Silver Falls. The same place Dickie Darke had been making payments to as far back as they could go in his bank records. Dee had come through, knocked on Walk’s door the night before and given him a slip of paper with the recipient’s name.
Three cups of coffee and they left, caffeine coursing Walk’s veins as the Silver Falls State Park came at them. Martha navigated and before long the trees towered beside. Rocks rose above steep banks of green. Walk opened his window to the rush of sound as they passed a waterfall.
Another turn and they came to the gates. Walk had called ahead, told them he wanted to look around the place. He gave his name through the speaker and watched the gates swing open.
They followed the long road till the hospital came to view, sleek and modern, dark-framed glass contrasted sand bricks, the place could’ve been luxury condos nestled amongst the forest.
The woman’s name was Eicher and she met them at the door with a hearty smile. She led them into a vast entrance hall, modern art, a sculpture that could’ve been an eagle. There was a calm to it all, doctors strolled by, nurses moved slow, no fuss, no worry. At first Walk thought it might’ve been a retreat, the kind of place harried execs came for some downtime. But then Eicher was back with them, and she reeled off the kind of work they did, the complex needs of their patients and the round-the-clock care they provided.
She moved with purpose, despite the extra fifty pounds she carried. An accent, hard to place, might’ve been German but it was muddied by local phrases. She didn’t ask who they were there for, Walk had mentioned a relative on the phone, needed help, needed specialist care. Eicher had told him to come in and take a look around, nothing formal, the fit was important and couldn’t be rushed.
Beside him Martha said nothing, just noted the sprawling day rooms, a bank of elevators and carpet so thick she felt her feet sink.
Eicher detailed the history, the proximity to the State Park and the calm it inspired. They were equipped for any kind of emergency, five doctors on call, thirty nurses.
She led them out into the gardens, which stretched their way down to a stream behind a low fence. Walk saw a couple of porters catching a smoke by a set of doors. Eicher shot them a look and they stubbed out their cigarettes and moved on.
“Can I ask how you found us?” she said.
“A friend of mine. Dickie Darke.”
She smiled then, white teeth, a decent gap between the front two. “Madeline’s father.”
Walk said nothing.
“She’s an exceptional girl. And Mr. Darke is so strong, after losing his wife like that. Did you know Kate?”
Martha stepped forward. “Not well enough.”
Eicher looked sad then, the only crack in a pristine façade. “She was a local girl. Grew up in Clarkes Grove. Madeline is her double.”
She led them back through the building, signed off with a brochure and a promise to call. Walk did not need to press further, he had found what he came for.
“Will you give him my regards? I hope he’s healing up well,” Eicher said.
Walk turned to her, she read the look.
“I’m sorry. The accident. Dickie was limping, said he’d slipped.”
Walk felt the rush then. “When was this?”
“Maybe a week ago. Some people, bad luck seems to follow them around.” Eicher added another smile, then turned and left them.
Fifteen miles to Clarkes Grove, and from there they took a walk along a colorful Main Street, distant from the Cape in miles alone. Walk liked the town right off. They found the old municipal library at the end of the street, quaint but tired, like the place was running on handouts alone. Empty inside, dark and cool, the smell taking Walk back to Portola and his two years of college.
An old lady at the desk didn’t look up from her screen so they headed to the back and the couple of computers. Martha got to work, sitting close to Walk, her leg pressed against his. He watched her, the way she furrowed her brow, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
“Are you checking me out, Chief?”
“No. Sorry. No.”
“That’s too bad.”
He laughed.
She typed quick, “Kate Darke,” the archives pulled up a dozen matches. They read in silence, the car accident, how Kate died at the scene and Madeline Ann suffered catastrophic brain injuries. There were photos, the ice, the Ford left the road and headed straight down a steep bank, meeting trees and popping the windshield. The lake behind, The Eight, the only calm in that shot.
A single photo of the family before.
Martha zoomed in close and Walk was struck by Darke, that emptiness, the hollow gaze, it was all absent back then.
“So Madeline would be fourteen now,” Martha said.
“Yes.”
“Jesus. She’s been in there nine years. Around the time Darke started making his moves. It’s a lot of money.”
Walk found another article, this one focused on Madeline and the work done at Unity. It said a lot and nothing at all. The girl was kept alive by a machine.
Darke was hoping for a miracle.
33
HARBOR BAY.
Walk made it there in thirty, didn’t flash the lights because Cabrillo was empty. The call came in an hour after he made it back from Portland.
He left the cruiser close
