“Your husband didn’t call the police when he was in trouble.” He paused. “Or the FBI.”
Mary considered this. She wondered what you called it when everything you’d spent your entire life believing was true and inviolate turned out to be false and manipulative. And you knew that you were alone. Absolutely alone.
After a moment she knelt beside the corpse and searched him for identification, grimacing as her fingers touched flesh and viscera and other things she didn’t care to imagine. “Just what did you shoot him with?”
“Twelve-gauge. It does the trick.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“Javelina. Wild boar. This is my first man. I felt worse for the animals.”
Mary handed Potter the dead man’s phone and returned Joe’s Glock to her holster. She felt something hard and angular in the man’s pocket. Car keys.
“Phone’s locked,” said Potter. “You get anything else?”
“No wallet. Just the keys.”
Tank handed Mary his shotgun and crouched, his ruined knees sounding like millstones colliding. He pulled off the man’s cap and used the phone’s flashlight to read the name inscribed in Marks-A-Lot on the sweatband. “McNair,” he said. “It’s a start.”
Mary gave him a hand to get to his feet. The knees cracked again, and she winced. “Sounds bad.”
“I’m asking Santa for a knee replacement. I’m still waiting to see when the concussions kick in. My head took as many hits as my body.”
“Drinking isn’t going to help.”
“No, it isn’t. By the way, I was already fired. Laid off, actually. The DUI just hurried up the process.”
The hour had gotten to 10:40. The moon was a sliver high in the sky. Stars punched through the canopy like machine-gun bullets. She looked back at the corpse. A man had been killed. The incident needed to be reported. She was the admiral’s daughter, and the admiral did everything by the book. “We have to call the police.”
“Mason will have us in jail by midnight,” said Potter. “National security.”
“They’ll find us anyway.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. In the meantime we’ll figure this thing out. Maybe it’s them who’ll be running.”
“Big words.”
“I’m a journalist. I like ’em big.”
The dead man’s phone made a pinging noise. “Incoming text from someone named Briggs. Take a look.”
Mary glanced at the phone. The text read: “Done?” “That big enough for you?”
“We need to go,” said Tank.
Mary gave Potter back his shotgun and tossed him McNair’s car keys. The two jogged across the flat landscape, winding their way around clumps of mesquite. They mounted the berm and ran down the other side to Mary’s car. The Jeep was parked next to it. Halfway across the lot was McNair’s pickup.
No lights burned from the café. Even the neon cowboy had gone dark.
“Fifty bucks says the truck’s registered to him.”
“Don’t even think about it. Whoever sent that text is probably waiting a mile up the road. I don’t want to be here when he comes to check why McNair didn’t answer him.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Be quick.”
“Lady, quick is not an adjective that belongs anywhere near my name. But I promise to be thorough and I’ll try to be swift.”
Potter half ran, half hobbled to the truck. A minute passed, and another. She tapped her foot, wishing he would come back, her eyes on the highway and the access road feeding into the lot. She thought of calling the girls to reassure them. It was late. She was sure they were asleep by now-Grace at least. Instead she texted Jessie: “Home in forty minutes. Turn off the computer now and go to sleep. Love U.”
Finally Potter left the truck and jogged back to her.
“Well?” she asked.
“Found some weed,” said Potter, tossing a clear pouch to the ground. “Also found his automobile registration and insurance cards. His name is William James McNair.”
“Anything else?”
“Wallet. Driver’s license.”
“Does he have a business card?”
“Didn’t see one. We can check the rest later.”
“That truck was here three days ago. I saw it on one of the surveillance feeds. It was parked close to the entrance when Joe left the café.”
“He must have been watching Joe,” said Tank.
“You think that’s all he did?”
Just then Mary’s phone vibrated in her hand. Text from Jessie: “Night, Mom. Love you.” Mary breathed easier. “Love you too, sweetie,” she replied. “On my way.”
“Everything okay?” asked Potter.
“It’s Jessie, saying good night.”
“She’s at home, right?”
“Looking after Grace.”
“Good.”
Only then did Mary register Potter’s worried expression. “Why?”
“I didn’t come out here only to see Cal. I came to find you. I drove by your place earlier, and when I didn’t see your car, I figured you probably had the same idea as me.”
“And?”
Tank drew a breath and related the details of his visit to Carlos Cantu’s house. Mary felt cold and alone.
“This isn’t over,” he said. “They want you, me, and Carlos dead, and they’re not going to stop until they succeed.”
“I need to get home.”
66
Thump!
Grace heard the noise coming from upstairs and muted the television. She sat frozen, breath locked inside her chest. The noise sounded heavy and hollow. Like a footstep.
The hackers had come. It was the people who had broken into Mom’s phone. Now they were here. They were upstairs.
Thump!
Grace jumped in her skin. It was a footstep, and it came from the room directly above her. Jessie’s room. She called her sister, but Jess didn’t answer. “Come home,” she texted. “Someone’s in the house.”
She clicked on her mom’s number but didn’t call. Not yet. Jess would kill her.
Grace rose from the couch and as quietly as possible walked to the base of the stairs. She stood there looking up, heart pounding. The hall lights were on. She thought she saw a shadow up there. She called Jess again. Again there was no answer.
The hackers were blocking her calls.
Grace began to tremble. She reasoned that she had three choices. Call Mom. Run to the Kramers’. Or go upstairs and confront whoever was there.
She couldn’t call Mom. Going to the Kramers’ was also out. Carrie would call her mom in a second, and Jess’s secret would be out of the bag. She remembered Mom saying that problems don’t get any smaller if you just stare at them. If Dad were here, he’d already be upstairs checking out what was making the sound. He wasn’t afraid of hackers or anyone else.
“I’m coming up,” she shouted. “If anyone’s there, go away. I’m warning you!”
She started up the stairs, pausing at each one to listen. It was quiet. The hackers were hiding, waiting. She didn’t know how anyone could get inside, let alone all the way upstairs without her hearing them. Still, everyone knew that thieves and murderers were clever and athletic, and it was hackers who had killed her dad. If they wanted to get in and kill her, they could.
Her phone made that whistling noise. Jessie texted back: “No one’s there, scaredy-cat. Go to bed. Mom will be home soon.”
Grace didn’t bother answering. She swallowed and climbed another stair.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Grace took off up the stairs. The noises weren’t footsteps. Something was buzzing around, hitting the wall over and over. Hackers wouldn’t do that. They were sneaky and bad, but they didn’t buzz.