She passed the pool table, breathed smoke and beer and the breath of tired men, leaning on each other, some swaying to the guitar.
When the music died she reached the corner, and the guitar player dipped his hat and she dipped her own in reply.
“You want to sing, girl?”
She nodded.
“Alright then.”
She took a seat and looked out, meeting them in turn, some smiles and some not.
She leaned, whispered because she wasn’t sure of the song’s name, only the words, but the man got it and smiled like she’d chosen well enough.
He played and she sat silent, he didn’t seem to mind when she closed her eyes and missed her cue, there were murmurs but she blocked them out and instead let those chords carry her a year back, when her mother was someone she could reach out to, never quite grasp but the feeling was there. She saw her brother, and then her grandfather, the reparation in his love stealing all the air from her chest.
She opened her mouth and sang.
She told them she was on their side, when times get rough.
The murmurs fell silent, and the men at the table stopped lining their shots and instead moved toward the little girl who sliced heaven wide open, her soul bared and burned, the man beside so transfixed he almost could not match her with his chords.
She was down and out, on the street. Darkness had come and pain was all around.
She was under no illusion, his blood would not cleanse hers. But she would do it, she couldn’t not.
When she was done she let the silence hang. The old man came from behind the bar, and he handed her an envelope stuffed with bills. She frowned till he pointed to the sign. SING TO WIN, monthly, a hundred bucks.
She did not wait for the cheers, she would hear them carry out into the lonely night as she left with her bag and found her way to the bus station.
This was her path to perdition.
A girl on her way to right a lifetime of wrongs.
44
WALK SPENT A NIGHT AND day dealing with the fallout.
There were questions from Iver County PD, he said little, they were still trying to figure out why Darke had broken into the Noble house. Walk did not help much with that. He said he was tired, sick, that he’d write a full report in the coming days. He wouldn’t speak of Duchess and the tape. He’d find a better angle.
He climbed into the rental and drove someplace he could sleep. A motel fifty miles from anywhere.
In a tired room he lay on his bed and thought of Duchess, lost out there now. He did not fight the way his body shook, just caved to it. His pants were loose, he’d punched new holes in his belt three times now. If he looked in the mirror he would see a frown where his smile had once been. They said he’d never change. He’d clung to that.
In the drawer beside he found a Bible and a pen and paper, and he wrote, resigned to resignation, he gave up his badge. There were still questions, maybe forever unanswered, but he would try, for the girl and the boy, he would still try.
He called Martha, got her machine so left the kind of rambling message that told her he was good, knew she wouldn’t buy it but signed off with a promise to call again after he got some sleep. He also told her he was sorry, sorry for more than he could possibly atone for.
His cell rang at nine.
He expected to hear Martha’s voice but it was Tana Legros, from the lab. He hadn’t leaned heavy this time, just asked if it could be done quietly.
“I owe you some bloodwork. I did leave messages, several over the past month.”
“Sorry. I’ve been …”
“Anyway, I made the gun a priority.”
“The blood in Darke’s place. Milton.”
“No, actually. Animal, not human.”
Walk ran a hand through his hair as he thought of Milton, hunting with Darke then heading back to his place after. “Deer?”
“Could be.”
“Right.”
“You okay, Walk?”
“The gun. Did you get anything?”
“We pulled prints.”
“Vincent King?” He held his breath, the room doing its spin, all or nothing now.
“No, actually.”
Walk took it, too tired even for his pulse to quicken.
“It’s small.”
“Woman?”
“Child. Small child.”
Walk closed his eyes. And then he dropped the phone as the pieces began to fit. He ached, so beat he could barely hold his head up.
He thanked Tana, then dialed Vincent.
Vincent answered on the second ring, a man that did not sleep anymore, one of the night people.
“I know.”
He listened to Vincent draw breath.
“What do you know?” Vincent said it quiet, not a challenge, just acceptance now.
“Robin.” The little boy’s name hung long in the air, the last year, all that had gone before. Walk stepped to the window, saw the freeway empty of cars, the sky empty of stars. “I found the gun.”
The silence was long, just the two of them, holding together, like always.
“You want to tell me?”
“I took two lives, Walk. I can live with one of those.”
“Baxter Logan. He paid his price, right?”
“You think it makes that woman’s family happy, what I did to the monster that ruined her? Maybe. I know what I did. I live with that. But not Sissy. Each time … each one of my breaths is stolen from her.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“You already know.”
Walk swallowed. “The boy shot his mother.”
Vincent breathed.
“But he was aiming at someone else,” Walk said, quiet, sad.
“Darke.”
“The girl burned his club. Insurance wouldn’t pay. How’d you fit?”
“I saw his car, went round back, the cut. Darke said he was searching the place, tried the kids’ bedroom door and Star lost it. The boy climbed out the window, heard his mother scream and came back.”
“Brave,” Walk said. “Like his sister.”
“Star shoved him in the closet, got him out of the way. The kid found the gun. Maybe he thought she was getting beat. He aimed out, closed
