“But you-” David’s anger faded into exhaustion. “The least you could do is give a man the opportunity to say ‘I told you so’.”
Steve's ranch had been neglected since long before he disappeared. The gate gave way with such infirmity that Emma had to support its weight as she moved it. In the yard there were tractors in varying states of disrepair. She stepped around a tire that had fallen onto the path.
“This is a lot of equipment for a place like this.”
“Steve moonlights as a handyman. People who have given up every alternative pay him to pretend to fix their digger.”
“How do you know that?”
“Everyone around here knows that.”
The cinder block farmhouse blended into the turf. Its advanced state of dilapidation gave it an organic contour. The eaves of the peaked roof nearly reached the tops of the grass, and more grass poked up between the shingles. The fog from the mountain had reached the edges of the ranch. If a witch ever decided to rough it, this is where she would go.
“After you, Em.”
“Coward.”
“It's pronounced 'civilian,' I think. Off you go.”
The untidy living room looked like it had been abandoned without warning. An old cigarette butt curled at the bottom of an ashtray. An empty glass balanced on the arm of an overstuffed chair. A clock on the bookshelf ticked. Next to it was a medical encyclopedia. There was a thin film of dust, but no more than the usual amount of bachelor detritus.
The encyclopedia was in order except for one volume. L-N was after O-R. This could prove to be a crime scene, so it was best to make note of the slightest detail. Equally important not to disturb anything from its current position. She realized that she had lost track of David.
“Where are you? Do you hear anything?”
“I’m in the kitchen. And nothing. Come smell this.”
She turned the corner into the next room, slipping the misplaced volume into the proper spot on her way.
“Smell what?”
“Exactly.”
There was no smell of rotten food, only a faint note of lemon cleaning solution above the usual earthy damp.
It didn't take long to determine that the house was empty. There was only one other place she knew to look.
“The shed, David. Come on.”
Behind the house was a squat, tilted shack made of corrugated metal, peeking around a small outcropping of black basalt. She crossed the short distance without making a sound.
Emma opened the door. Steve was curled into a ball on the hard ground. He was roused with the advanced police technique of poking with a stick. Once he came to, he retreated into the corner.
“Go away! What do you want from me?”
“Stephen? It's OK. I'm PC Cambourne. I'm working with Ned.”
“Ned! Jesus Christ, Ned!”
“Sir, we're here to help you. Can you try to stand up?”
“Get away! I'll fucking kill you like I killed Ned.”
“What? Ned Sommers attempted suicide. And he's not dead. You didn't kill him.”
The man looked up at her for the first time and she squinted at his face. In the thin light she could see the outline of a long, gaunt face and two dark eyes. He studied her face for a moment, then slammed his eyes shut.
“I killed him. I know I did. I feel it so clearly.”
“I promise you no one has killed Ned Sommers, not you or anybody else. He is as alive and well as anybody ever is in Carlisle. If you want to talk about it, we should do that back at the village. When was the last time you had anything to eat?”
The man allowed her to pull him to his feet. Every movement in the small space scraped the walls, causing render to chip away in splinters. He took a moment to convince himself that his legs would hold him up and stepped out into the gloom.
“Constable, is this man with you?”
Emma had forgotten to keep an eye on David during her exchange with Steve. Her husband was standing in the field between the house and the shed, breathing so fast the air caught in his lungs.
Emma approached him like a bomb technician. “No, no, no.”
He was emitting a high-pitched whine. He stared through her, his eyes snapping left and right. He looked at the mountain, and toward the sound of the ocean in the opposite direction.
“David. David you're OK. It's me Emma. Think about where you are.”
“Where the fuck am I? Who are you?” He backed away when she tried to approach him.
The sight pulled Steve out of his own thoughts. On unsteady legs, he walked toward the two of them.
“It’s alright, Mate. Listen to the nice lady. She’s a police officer.”
Emma resisted the urge to glare at Steve. She wanted him to look away, wait for her, go back and have another breakdown, anything but help.
“She doesn't sound like a police officer. Where the fuck is this?” David’s legs were shaking, and his voice was unsteady.
Emma moved slowly toward him, keeping a calm tone and gradual movements. “We're on South Alderney, David. David, look at me. It's me. Look. It's Emma. Do you understand? We're on an island, and everything is OK.”
David's voice gave way to squeaking sobs, but he did not retreat any further. He let Emma hold onto his arms and look him in the eye. His breathing got quieter. She could feel through his sleeve that his racing heart was returning to normal.
“I want to go home now.”
“I know, David. We're going home right away. We're taking our friend here with us, and we're going to get you a good night's sleep.” She motioned to Steve, who hesitated before coming closer. They each offered an arm to David. He accepted their help without protest. As they made their way back across the Downs, Emma tried to make sense of the situation.
“How long were you in there, Mr. White?”
“It’s Steve. I don't know. A day. Two maybe.”
“What happened
