He looked up at her, his mouth ringed with grease from the sub. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said, knowing she sounded like an overindulgent mother.
Jimmy said, “So what do we do now?”
“We keep looking for him.”
“Yeah, but where?” He stretched his arm out, as if to encompass the Subway and the whole northern part of the state.
“We’ll find him. I’ve never lost a patient yet,” she joked.
He stared at her skeptically. The lock of hair falling over one eye. He looked frail, small for his age, but he was strong. He was like a cable that would not bend. “He’s probably on a plane back to LA by now.”
“He’s around here,” Shaun said. “Somewhere. I can feel it.”
“You and your feelings again.”
“I’ve done this for a long time. I know what I’m talking about.”
“Bet you didn’t figure on him locking those idiots in the bomb shelter!”
She didn’t like his smirk. “Don’t talk to your mother like that,” she said.
“You’re not my mother.”
Shaun said, “What are you talking about? I’m your mother and you’re my son. I thought we already talked about this.”
He looked away and mumbled something.
“What?” She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “What did you say?”
“You’re not my mother. I have a mother.”
“Then where is she? How come I found you living on the streets?”
He ducked his head and rubbed one eye. That lock of hair, falling over his face. “My mother’s dead.”
“No, she’s not. She’s right here, looking at you, young man.” A red mist lowered over her eyes. No—not a mist. A stain. She could see everything clearly, in better detail than normal—every grain on the Subway bun, every one of Jimmy’s fine eyelashes, the ring of dark around his accusing eyes.
“I am your mother.”
He stared at her through the red stain. Everything hyperdelineated and clear. Sound rushing in, magnified. She could hear the lowered voice of the other diners, hear the crackle of waxed paper as the kid at the counter wrapped a sub. Everything a deep, blood red.
The anger building, coming up through her throat like Mt. Vesuvius.
She repeated, “I am your mother!”
And realized she was shouting.
Everything stopped. The place went quiet.
People were looking at them.
She grabbed his hand. “We’ve got to go. Now.”
He pulled away. “I don’t want to go. You’re going to get us in trouble. We’re both going to end up in prison.”
“Keep your voice down.”
He stood up. “Screw you! You go do what you want, but I’m outta here.” And he dodged past her and trotted to the men’s room.
IN THE CULVERT, Max waited, then waited some more. It could still be a trap. The kid could be right outside, like a cat at a mouse hole. Waiting…
But the thunder was grumbling, and he could smell moisture in the air. If it rained, he’d be washed out like everything else in this culvert.
He’d been trained by cops. He knew how to at least act like one. He duckwalked over to the edge of the culvert. Got on his stomach. Looked left first—the kid might go for the element of surprise—then right. Sweeping his gun as he did so. Crawled out a little more. On his back, gun trained at the road above. Sweeping again. Then he jumped to his feet.
No one here. No sound of cars. No skinny little kid with the heart of a killer.
Relief rolled off him along with his sweat.
He’d wiped his nose on his sleeve. Realized he’d never smelled so rank.
Fear smelled rank. And the desire to kill, that smelled rank too.
He felt it. The strength flowing into him. He felt exalted. He wanted to crow to the skies. He wanted to hunt down that kid and hunt down that woman and see it in their eyes when he drew down on them. Wanted to smash, to kill.
“What is wrong with me?” he muttered as he climbed the bank. He started in the direction of town, but his goal was the Desert Oasis Healing Center. And Gordon White Eagle would be in for a world of hurt when he got there.
TESS STARTED UP the new car—it sounded powerful and didn’t miss like her last unit—and waited for a big truck to pull off the road and into the Subway parking lot. The words “Sunline Traders” were written on the side.
Back at the office, she called the Desert Oasis Healing Center. She was immediately put on hold. The canned music was Sinatra tunes without Sinatra’s voice. The young man who’d answered had said, “I’ll try and see if he’s in. No promises.”
She should just drive up there. But it was her first day as detective and they had three people dead of gunshot wounds and at least two crime scenes. They were understaffed and even though Pat was not as helpful as she would like, he was doing his job. She needed to stick around and work with him.
“Hello.” The voice was deep and brisk. “This is Mr. White Eagle.”
Tess thought once again, What kind of name is that? “My name is Tess McCrae. I work for—”
“I know who you are.” Silence—did he mean to intimidate her?
“This is in regard to one of your patients, Mr. White Eagle…” She decided to be straightforward. “There has been a serious crime and—”
“Is he dead?” White Eagle blurted out.
“Excuse me, sir?”
The man took a deep breath.
“Sir? Do you have any knowledge of a crime?”
Nothing but breathing on the other end. Deep breathing. Hyperventilating.
“Sir?” she repeated. “Do you have any knowledge of this crime? Here in Paradox, in Bajada County? Have you heard anything?” Wishing now she had done what her instincts told her to do and had driven up to see him in person. “Sir?”
White Eagle said, “Is he…” She heard him swallow. “Is he dead?”
“Is who dead?” Tess asked.
He didn’t reply. Silence stretched out. Tess said, “From where I’m sitting, it sounds to me like you have knowledge of this crime. Is that correct, Mr. White Eagle? Do you know what transpired here in Paradox?”
“No! Look. I’m just trying to understand. If there’s a problem…”
“You keep saying ‘he,’ Mr. White Eagle. Who are you referring to?”
Silence.
“Are you referring to the actor, Max Conroy?”
Another pause. Then Gordon White Eagle said, “Why would you think that?”
“Sir, was he at your facility last night?”
“I haven’t talked to the attendants today. They’d certainly alert me if he was missing…” His voice drifted off.
Fudging.
Max had left the reservation. But why did White Eagle think he was dead?
“Sir, I want you to listen to me and listen carefully. I am going to ask you a question. I want you to answer me truthfully. This is a criminal investigation, and as such I need the absolute truth.” Tess was a little rusty, but she thought she struck the right tone between official business and offering a little bit of wiggle room—if he cooperated. She added, “I am counting on your cooperation.”
The subtext was: remember the guru down the road with the sweat lodge? The one whose negligence led to the deaths of three people?
He was quiet on his end.
“Do you understand me? I need you to be truthful. Is Max Conroy at the Desert Oasis Healing Center or isn’t he?”
“Of course he is!”
So much for her bluff. Dammit, she wished she was in a room with him. “I need to speak to him.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“This is a homicide investigation, sir. If he is there, I need to speak to him.”
“It can’t be done.”
“Why, sir?”