An investigator had found a spiral notebook wedged underneath the seat cushion of the leather chair. Darby read Emma Hale's diary as crime scene investigators processed the room, tagging potential evidence.
The spare bedroom on the top floor held stacks of barbells and a lifting bench. Walter Smith had taped several photographs of Hannah Givens to a full-length mirror.
In the corner was a desk with a computer and a multifunction printer that operated as a fax machine and scanner. Darby made a copy of the diary. She placed the folded sheets inside her jacket pocket and grabbed her car keys.
85
Jonathan Hale woke to bright sunlight. The breeze coming through the hotel window was pleasantly cool. He wondered if spring was coming early this year.
Inhaling deeply, he remembered the dream where Emma stood on the front steps of the ranch-style house where he grew up. The front door was open. He heard his dead wife's voice as he walked up the porch steps. There were other voices whispering in the darkness, voices he didn't recognize. Emma was standing next to him. When he saw her face, he realized he didn't need to be scared. She held his hand and the fear disappeared. He remembered feeling content, at peace.
That feeling was still with him as he rolled over and checked the clock. 7:15 a.m. Despite having slept for only a few hours, he felt remarkably rested. Hale called his driver. When he checked out of the hotel, the limo was waiting. Hale drank coffee and on the way home read newspapers and listened to the news.
The limo's privacy screen was up. Hale took out the phone Malcolm Fletcher had given him. There was only one number to call now. Hale didn't speak, just listened.
Tony carried the bags into the house. Today was Sunday. Hale checked his watch. If he hurried, he could still make the noon Mass. He drove alone to the church.
Showered and shaved and dressed in a suit, Jonathan Hale sat in a pew surrounded by his neighbours and their children, some grown, some still growing. Father Avery gave a sermon on the importance of helping the less fortunate. God had blessed everyone here with good fortune, he said. Hale listened, his attention fixed on the cross hanging on the wall behind the altar.
After Mass, friends and neighbours stopped to shake his hand. Some pulled him aside and asked how he was doing. Do you need anything, Jonathan? We're here for you.
Father Avery also wanted a private word with him.
'It's good to have you back, Jonathan. Your daughter was a very special young lady. I miss her terribly – the whole community does. The church's fundraising committee was thinking of doing something special to honour Emma's memory. Maybe you'd like to talk to them?'
What Father Avery wanted was access to his list of friends and business associates who would come out for a good cause. By using Emma's name, the church would most likely double if not triple last year's charity contributions. Tragedy always made people reach deep into their wallets.
'I'll be more than glad to help out,' Hale said. 'Thank you so much for thinking of me, Father.'
Hale pulled onto his street and saw a young woman with pale skin and shockingly dark red hair leaning against a black Mustang parked a few feet from the main gate. Hale pulled the Bentley up next to her and rolled down his window.
Up close and in the sunlight, Darby McCormick's green eyes were striking. She didn't seem that much older than Emma.
'May I talk to you for a moment, Mr Hale?'
'Of course,' Hale said. 'I'll drive you up to the house.'
'Let's talk out here. I'm enjoying the weather.'
Hale stepped out of the car but left it running.
Dr McCormick's face was friendly when she said, 'I want to talk to you about Malcolm Fletcher.'
'The former FBI profiler.'
'You know who he is.' It wasn't a question.
'It's been all over the news. He killed Detective Bryson and now they're saying he abducted Walter Smith.' Hale placed his hands in his jacket pockets. 'Did that man kill my daughter?'
'I think you already know the answer to that question.'
'I'm sorry?'
The young woman turned her attention to the house, to the limo and vintage cars parked in the driveway. The maintenance staff, taking advantage of the warm weather, were cleaning and waxing the vehicles.
Hale remembered the day of Emma's high-school graduation. He had given her a car, a convertible BMW, as a gift. A big red bow was affixed to the car roof. He could remember her breathless gasp when she saw it, the sound of her laugh. He remembered lots of things now.
'Someone I know decided to take the law into his hands,' Darby McCormick said. 'This person believed, deep in his heart, he was doing the right thing. At first, this person felt good about having his revenge, but over time, the guilt of what he did ate him alive.
'Mr Hale, what you've done or whatever it is you're doing, I know it feels right. Now. But this feeling of peace or justice or whatever you're calling it, it will turn on you. Time won't wash it away, and you can't pay someone to remove it for you. It will be with you forever. It's a heavy burden to carry, that guilt. You're not equipped to live with it. It will eat you alive.'
The dream from this morning came back to him and he saw Emma's face clearly in his mind's eye. He felt her hand gripped in his.
The young woman's next words were startling.
'If you tell me where Walter Smith is, I'll blame it on Fletcher,' Darby said. 'I'll say he called me again and told me where to find Walter's body. This conversation stays strictly between you and me. I give you my word.'
'With all due respect, Miss McCormick, you've overstepped your bounds.'
'I'm trying to save you from making a terrible mistake, sir. This is a one-time offer. When I leave, it's off the table.'
'I can't help you.'
'So you don't know where Walter Smith is?'
'No.'
'For your sake, Mr Hale, I hope you're telling the truth. The FBI will be paying you a visit. I hope you have a good lawyer.'
'Enjoy the rest of your day.'
'Before you go, I wanted to give you this.' She handed him some folded papers. 'It's Emma's diary. We found it at Walter's home. I made you a copy.' Hale took the folded pages and held them gently in his hands.
'Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Mr Hale?'
'Please let me know when you find Walter Smith. I'd like to speak to him. Thank you for this.' Hale held up the pages as he opened the car door.
Hale went to his office and shut the door.
After he finished reading, he sat in the chair, staring out the back windows. He sat for a long time, thinking.
He stood slowly, using the chair for support, lit a fire and filled a glass with bourbon. He drank the first glass empty and poured himself another.
He was on his third glass when he took out the cell phone and dialled the number he had called inside the limo.
The line rang once. The phone on the other end picked up.
'I'm sorry,' Walter Smith said. His voice was raw from screaming.
The thing's cell phone could only receive calls. It couldn't call out for help.
'I loved Emma. I loved her so much.' It was sobbing again. 'Do you know what that feels like? To love someone so much you can't breathe? Like your heart is about to burst?'
