“Yes, but you should wait until I call him…” she said, her voice trailing off.
Sheriff Carey was in the act of hanging up his telephone. His office blazed with lights, even though the rest of the department was dark. When Hearne stepped into the doorway, Carey looked up slowly, without expression. It didn’t seem to surprise him that the local banker was in his office late on Sunday night. He looked terrible, Hearne thought, completely unlike the confident man holding the press conference the day before.
“Sheriff, are you okay?”
Carey nodded slowly. His eyes seemed moist, oily. The dark circles surrounding them looked painted on. “Hello, Mr. Hearne.”
Hearne reached across the sheriff’s desk to greet him. Carey’s hand was chilly and without strength.
“Sheriff, you look like hell.”
Carey smiled slightly, sadly. “I’m real tired, Mr. Hearne.”
“Call me Jim. I won’t keep you. I’m just trying to figure a couple of things out, and I hoped you could help me.”
“Pretty late for that.”
“I know,” Hearne said, not knowing if the sheriff meant the time of night or the situation in general. He looked hard at Carey and saw a man who was physically and emotionally spent. This was not the time to confess. That would have to be later.
“When I ran for sheriff, I really didn’t think there would be nights like this,” Carey said softly, looking at a place just above Hearne’s left shoulder. “I don’t think I’m… equipped for this sort of thing. There’s too much going on. I’m in over my head, Jim. I just want to go home and get into my bed and never wake up, you know?” Hearne didn’t know what to say. He barely knew the man, and what he knew wasn’t encouraging. He didn’t expect to be witness to what appeared to be a breakdown in progress.
“Can I get you something? Coffee?” Hearne asked lamely.
Carey shook his head. “A bullet in the brain might help.”
When Hearne’s eyes widened, Carey held up his hand. “Just kidding,” he said. “Sort of.” He gestured outside with a nod. “Those people out there want a statement from me. Now, it’s big-time.”
Carey began to tell Hearne what had been happening for the last three days, from the missing Taylor children to the confession of Tom Boyd, from the creation of the task force, to the call he had just received from a deputy reporting the severe beating of Oscar Swann. Not only that, but Monica Taylor was missing from her house, taken by a man who fit the description of Jess Rawlins. “Fiona Pritzle suspects Rawlins as well,” Carey said. Hearne was stunned by it all.
“How could this all be happening?” Hearne asked, finally. “It’s like I don’t know this place anymore.”
Carey shook his head. “Me neither.”
Hearne thought about it for a minute, his mind whirling, filled with possibilities, all of them dark. “Sheriff, do you know where Singer is right now? Or the rest of the task force, for that matter?”
Carey shook his head no. Like everything, he seemed to be saying, the task force was out of his control.
“How can they just be gone?” Hearne asked. “Are they at the hospital, with Swann?”
Carey shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“What about Eduardo Villatoro? The detective? Do you know where he is?”
Carey shrugged again.
Hearne sat forward in his chair, angry. “Look, Sheriff, I realize it’s tough right now. You probably haven’t slept in two days. But damn it, you’re the sheriff. You can’t just sit here.”
Carey looked back, his eyes dead.
“And what you told me about Jess Rawlins. I don’t believe it. I’ve known Jess all my life. There is no way-NO WAY-he’s involved in the disappearance of those kids. Anybody who knows him knows that. Fiona Pritzle is a common gossip, the worst kind. Do you think Singer and the others believed her, for Christ’s sake?”
The sheriff looked away. “Maybe,” he conceded.
Hearne stood up. “You’ve got to set them right! Get ahold of them, and tell them Jess is a good man and Fiona Pritzle is crazy. Tell those reporters out there before they broadcast these allegations to the whole country. Look, I came here tonight because four years ago I opened an account at the bank I shouldn’t have opened. It was right as the L.A. cops discovered us. I looked the other way at the time, I admit it. I should have asked more questions, but I wanted the business. But I didn’t hand over the keys to this whole valley. None of us have. It’s still ours, we just need to reclaim it. It’s time to show some leadership. That’s why the people elected you sheriff! ”
Hearne heard himself yelling, something he rarely if ever did. But instead of getting through to Carey, waking him up, his shouting had the opposite effect. Carey seemed to withdraw further, saying nothing.
Hearne looked around. The red-helmeted dispatcher stood in the doorway, her mouth open, her eyes blinking so fast they blurred.
“Sheriff, I heard shouting,” she said.
“It’s okay,” Carey said, so wearily even Hearne felt sorry for the man. “Just go back to work.”
When the dispatcher left, Hearne tied to calm his voice. “So you don’t know where anybody is?”
Carey shook his head. “Singer might be at the hospital, what I’d guess.”
“Okay, then,” Hearne said, standing. “Please, I’m asking you to get in touch with Singer. Tell him Jess Rawlins is a good guy. Don’t let the press run with this. We can’t have anything happen that shouldn’t.”
Carey nodded blankly.
Hearne turned toward the doorway.
“Jim,” Carey said. Hearne looked over his shoulder. “I’m turning the whole thing over to the state and the Feds. I’ve called them, and they’ll be here by morning. I know it’s only been two days, but this thing is just too damned big for me.”
“That’s probably overdue,” Hearne said. “I’m surprised you waited. And Sheriff, I’d suggest you get a grip on yourself. Go home and take a shower and shave. Try to act professional.”
Carey looked up, his eyes far away. “I’ll try,” he said.
HEARNE TRIED to contact Jess Rawlins on his cell phone as he drove away from the county building toward the hospital. No one picked up, and Jess didn’t have voice mail. He wanted to tell Jess what was happening, warn him what some suspected due to Fiona Pritzle’s gossip. The thought of Jess Rawlins being suspected as a kidnapper or child molester turned Hearne’s stomach.
On his way out of town he decided to stop by the hospital, see if he could locate Singer. Hearne felt a compelling need to tell Singer their business relationship was over, that it was time to let the chips fall where they may. Despite everything that was going on, and Singer’s heroic role in the task force, Hearne desperately wanted to sever their relationship. It would be his first step back to respectability, even though it would also be an invitation to bank examiners to question his judgment, and the board of directors to discuss his continued employment.
He parked his car at the back of the hospital and left it running while he retrieved his cell phone to call Laura, to tell her he would be even later than he thought. While it rang, he looked at the way the word EMERGENCY from the red neon sign above the entrance reflected backwards and upside down on the hood of his car, the colors lighting up beads of rain.
“Hi, honey,” she said by way of greeting. Her voice sounded tired.
“Sorry to call so late,” he said, still looking at the reflection. “I’m going to run out to Jess Rawlins’s ranch before I come home.”
“Jess? Is he okay?”
“I think so,” he said, and tried to briefly tell her what he knew. As he talked, and she listened sympathetically (she had always disliked Fiona Pritzle), he almost didn’t notice the subtle change in the light reflection on his hood as a form passed in front of his car. Looking out the rain-streaked side window, he continued to talk as the form-a man wearing what appeared to be hospital whites with a heavily bandaged head-staggered between the row of cars, reaching from car to car to steady himself and maintain his balance.