were black. She smelled a storm. “What can I do for you, Donna? Is something wrong?”
She heard hesitation in the woman’s voice. “I don’t know. I think so.”
“What is it?”
“Clark and I were together at a bar in Gary this evening. We saw the press conference that Ms. Burns held.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Maggie said. “I tried to reach both of you to tell you what you were going to hear, but I couldn’t connect with you in time.”
“I understand.”
“I hope you realize that I’m still chasing the peeping incidents aggressively. I’m not giving up on this case. I only wish I could be more encouraging about charges related to Mary’s death.”
“It’s not your fault,” Donna replied. “I’m just afraid that Clark is very upset. I could see it in his eyes tonight. He’s devastated.”
“I know this has been terrible for both of you,” Maggie said.
“Clark disappeared from the bar, Ms. Bei. He left, and he didn’t tell me where he was going. He was drinking heavily. I went to his house to find him, and I’ve been here for several hours now. I was hoping he’d come home, but he hasn’t. I’ve tried his cell phone, but he must have it turned off.”
“Did he say anything to you?” Maggie asked.
“Nothing. I went to the restroom, and when I came back, he was gone.”
“Have you called 911?”
“No, I wanted to talk to you first. I’m not sure what I should do.”
“I’ll put out an alert for Clark and his truck,” Maggie told her. “Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”
“I’m afraid of what he might do,” Donna added.
Maggie thought about Clark’s face when she had come upon him in the woods where Mary died. “Does Clark own a gun?” she asked softly.
“He owns hunting rifles, but they’re all still here at the house. I checked. He doesn’t own a handgun.”
“That’s good news,” Maggie told her. She waited a beat and then added, “I know that Clark has been depressed, but has he talked at all about harming himself? Are you afraid he might commit suicide?”
“No, that’s not it,” Donna said. “I’m not worried about Clark killing himself. I’m worried that he might kill someone else.”
“Someone else? Like who?”
“They talked about that man on the news tonight. The one you’ve been investigating. Clark knows his name now. He knows where he lives.”
“You mean Finn Mathisen?”
“Yes. I think Clark might try to do what you can’t. Get justice for Mary.”
Maggie swore under her breath. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Ms. Bei, you have to find him. You can’t let Clark do this.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t. I don’t care about this other man. He deserves whatever happens to him. But I don’t want Clark throwing away his life. He can’t. Not now.”
Maggie heard the pleading in Donna’s voice. “What are you saying?”
“Clark doesn’t know,” Donna told her. “He doesn’t know I’m pregnant.”
40
Midnight in the rural neighborhoods of Superior was quiet. The media trucks that had surrounded Finn’s house for the ten o’clock news were gone. The house was dark and silent. Even so, Clark knew that Finn was hiding there, sitting in some room with the lights off. The silver RAV sat like a ghost truck in the driveway. He hoped that the man who had killed his daughter couldn’t sleep.
He thought about breaking in. Kick down the door or smash a window. He told himself that all he wanted to do was confront Finn and look for the guilt in his face, and tell him that he had robbed two lives when he set his sights on Mary. But that was a lie. Clark had darker things in his heart.
He squirmed in his seat because he needed to piss. He opened the door of his pickup and climbed down to the dirt. Overhead, there were no stars, only angry clouds growing blacker and more threatening as he stared at them. Wind drummed on his back. He stood between the steel rails of the tracks and unzipped and drained a clear stream of urine into the crushed rock. When he was done, he went back to the truck and reached across the seat to grab the baseball bat he had stolen. It was heavy and satisfying in his hand, like an instrument of justice.
Before he could close the truck door, he heard a voice over the howl of the wind, whispering in his ear.
“No, Daddy.”
Clark spun around. “Mary?”
He looked for her spirit in the darkness, but he was alone. His mind was playing games with him. Even so, the memory of his daughter’s voice, which was as clear and familiar as if she had been standing next to him, softened the fury in his heart. Clark stood for a long moment, hesitating. The storm was close and violent. The brittle air felt as if it would snap.
He wondered if Mary had come back to stop him. To tell him that what he was doing was wrong.
He threw the bat back into the truck, where it banged against the far door. He pulled himself up into the driver’s seat and held tightly to the steering wheel. The gales rattled the pickup. He took out his wallet and removed the photograph he kept of himself and Mary on the beach. The picture had been taken two summers ago. After staring at it silently and remembering the perfect Sunday afternoon they had spent together, he craned his neck back until his skull bumped against the head rest. His mouth hung open, gulping air. The tears he had been waiting for finally came. They were a silent army, marching out of his eyes, streaking his stubbled chin. He didn’t move or react, or feel his shoulders clench with sobs. It was just his grief letting go in a calm rain.
When it was over, Clark straightened up and wiped his face. He couldn’t do what he had been planning. He couldn’t kill in cold blood. He reached for the key, wanting to be away from this terrible place. He hoped that Donna was waiting for him at home. Maybe she was right. Maybe something could be salvaged between them. There had been an old yearning in her eyes at the bar, like an ember in a fire that could be coaxed back to life with a warm breath.
Before he could start the engine of his truck, however, he saw a ripple of movement on the front porch of the house across the tracks.
The door opened like the lips of a black monster, and someone tall and skinny sneaked out into the night. It was Finn, nearly invisible in dark clothes. He took each step awkwardly, like a sick man. He stopped at the bottom step, and his head swiveled, surveying the neighborhood. Clark held his breath as Finn’s eyes lingered on his pickup, but the darkness protected him. When Finn thought he was alone, he crept beside the towering lilacs in the front yard and made his way stealthily to his RAV.
Clark knew exactly what Finn was doing. It was the watching hour. It didn’t matter that a sweet girl had died. It didn’t matter that his face had been exposed to the city as a suspect. He was off to find another window, another girl.
That was something Clark couldn’t allow.
He shoved the photo of Mary into his front pocket. He apologized to Donna in his mind. He waited until Finn’s RAV pulled out of the gravel driveway, then started his own truck and left the lights off. He hung back several blocks, but the taillights of Finn’s vehicle were easy to follow. Finn led him on a crisscross path
