‘I’ll do that,’ Altman said. ‘We found the murder weapon. It was a revolver. The cylinder had four spent casings, but only two shots appear to have been fired at the scene. Does that suggest anything to you?’
Chris knew what Altman meant.
‘We think it was the same gun that was used to kill Ashlynn Steele,’ the county attorney went on. He frowned and asked pointedly, ‘Where’s your daughter? I’d like to talk to her.’
‘She’s in her room,’ Hannah interjected. ‘She’s been there all evening. Whatever’s going on, this doesn’t concern her. Leave her alone.’
She said it calmly and convincingly, but Chris knew it was a lie. Olivia wasn’t in her room.
‘What about Johan Magnus?’ Altman went on. ‘Have you seen him?’
‘No,’ Chris said.
‘You told me Johan was going after Kirk. Did he try to reach you? Did he ask for your help?’
‘He didn’t.’
‘If he had, would you have tried to stop him?’
‘Of course I would.’
Chris could see the county attorney debating whether they were being honest. The man’s frustration showed. ‘I need to find Johan Magnus quickly,’ Altman said.
‘So you can pin a murder charge on him?’ Hannah demanded. ‘Don’t ask us to help you do that. Whoever killed Kirk did the world a favor.’
‘I’m trying to protect the boy, too.’
‘Protect him? Why? From what?’
‘We got a call from Kirk’s brother,’ Altman told them. ‘Lenny Watson told us Kirk had been murdered and where to find the body. He told us Johan was at the scene, covered in blood.’
‘You believe him?’ Chris asked.
‘It doesn’t matter whether I believe him. That’s not the point. When we got to the house, Lenny was nowhere to be found. He’s missing, too, and we’re trying to find him. In his 911 call, Lenny said he was going to avenge his brother. He’s planning to kill Johan.’
‘Where is she?’ Chris asked.
They were back on the porch of Hannah’s house, out of the rain. Hannah left her red umbrella on one of the Adirondack chairs. She beckoned him inside. The house was warm and quiet. She took off her raincoat and peered through the windows at the church, which was still a hive of police activity. No one had followed them. No one was watching them.
‘Is she here?’ he asked again.
Hannah pointed at the closed door that led down into the basement. ‘She came to me for help. They both did. I wasn’t going to say no, Chris.’
‘Jesus, Hannah. Tell me she wasn’t at Kirk’s house tonight.’
She said nothing, but he knew that was exactly where Olivia had been. He opened the basement door. The light was off.
‘Olivia, it’s me,’ he called into the darkness.
He switched on the light and marched down the wooden steps beside the stone blocks of the foundation. Hannah followed him. It was cool and damp under the ground. In the open space, he saw area rugs spread across the hard floor and metal shelves lining the walls. Ductwork made a maze overhead. Mice had found their way under the house; he saw tunnels in the pink insulation.
A shabby blue sofa was pushed against the north wall. During tornado season, it was a place to wait out the storm.
Olivia sat on the sofa with her arm around the waist of Johan Magnus.
Both teenagers looked freshly showered; they wore clean clothes; their skin was pink. They had a blanket over their laps. Chris heard the bang of the drier; their clothes had been washed and were tumbling dry. Hannah had already helped them. She’d destroyed evidence.
Johan didn’t say a word. He looked overwhelmed. Olivia, in contrast, looked in complete control. She was the strong one. The determined one. Her voice, when she spoke, was perfectly calm.
‘Johan didn’t do it, Dad,’ she told him. ‘He didn’t kill anyone. He’s innocent. Like me.’
43
Florian Steele waited fifteen minutes, but Kirk never showed.
The park by the Indian monument was where they always conducted their business. Their relationship wasn’t for public eyes. It was cash only; it was one on one; it was only at night. They met, they talked, they did their deal, they went their separate ways. He didn’t like it, but he’d long ago made peace with the fact that every business needed a Kirk Watson to survive.
Kirk was Florian’s problem-solver. When Vernon Clay’s insanity became a liability, he’d sent Kirk to deal with him. He’d hoped never to cross that line, but the scientist gave him no choice. Since then, Florian had slept soundly, convinced that Vernon was no longer a threat. Now he didn’t know what to believe. If Vernon was alive, then Florian understood the danger. If Vernon was dead, then Aquarius was a mystery. His plans were unknown.
He remembered what Julia had said.
Florian checked his watch. He couldn’t wait any longer. It was unlike Kirk to miss a meeting, and the more time that passed, the more he worried about a trap. He drove out of the park onto the rainy roads. He kept his eyes on his mirrors, but no one followed him.
He called Julia to tell her he was on his way home. She didn’t answer. She was probably in the shower, getting ready for bed, ignoring his messages. Since Ashlynn’s death, she’d been asleep when he came to bed. She hadn’t let him touch her for days. Tonight, he would wake her up, undress her, make love to her, sweat passion out of her. He couldn’t stand the emptiness of his life for another night. He was dead, and he needed to feel alive. If he could break the dam between them, they could both grieve like normal people. They could take comfort in each other. They could finally cry.
He dialed again. ‘Pick up, Julia,’ he murmured, but if she was there, she let him stew in silence.
Florian turned off the highway and followed the sharp incline of the bluff. The city, the river, the company were all in the valley below him. He reached his U-shaped driveway and saw that Julia had turned off every light in the house. She was leaving him in darkness. The gulf in their marriage pained him. It was hard enough to deal with the loss of his daughter, but even worse to do so alone. He wondered if Julia realized how much he still loved her. He wondered if she knew he had always been faithful.
He pressed the garage door opener and almost drove into the closed door. He pushed the button again, but the door didn’t move. He studied the unlit house and realized that the power was out. When he looked at the rest of the neighborhood, he saw that lights burned everywhere but here.
Something else was going on, and he didn’t like it.
Florian unlocked his glove compartment. He kept a Ruger 9mm pistol there at all times. Everyone knew who he was; everyone knew he had money. He couldn’t take chances with pirates on the rural roads. He took the butt of the pistol in his hand, checked it, and got out of the car into the rain. He followed the flagstones on his walkway and reached his front door.
It was ajar. Rain and dirt streaked the crack of the opening onto the plush white carpet.
He pushed open the door with his shoulder. Inside, with no electricity, the house was absolutely still, and the air was growing cold. The security system was off. He couldn’t see, but he could trace every inch of the house blindfolded. He led with the barrel of the gun and headed for the magnificent spiral staircase that climbed to the bedrooms.
Halfway up the steps, he called for her. ‘Julia!’
His voice, shattering the silence, sounded loud. He didn’t care who heard him. If someone was here, they’d already seen his headlights as he arrived. They knew he was in the house. They knew where he would go. To find his wife.
‘Julia!’ he shouted again.
She didn’t answer, or she couldn’t answer. He was terrified of what he would find.
