Walt fielded a dozen routine questions. It was to be a night raid. Some of the team would be wearing night vision equipment; others would not, and the mixture made clarification important. He appreciated the nervousness and tension that filled the room; better that than overconfidence. He still had to pick his partner for the attack. Together, they would attempt to reach the cabin and rescue Mark Aker, or at least position themselves to do so, ahead of the main assault. It gave Mark the best chance of survival and hopefully would preempt his being used as a bargaining chip.
Walt scanned the group for the right person. Then, through the glass, he saw Tommy Brandon enter the building and approach reception. Brandon, who had likely aided Gail in the abduction of his daughters. He was wearing street clothes, not his uniform. He’d removed the sling.
Walt excused himself from the team, turning it over to his deputy, and met Brandon in the foyer. For a long moment, the two just stared at each other.
“It wasn’t my idea,” Brandon said.
“I want them back,” Walt said.
“I think she knows that.” Brandon hesitated. “Look, I want to help on this.”
Walt took a deep breath. “What about the arm?”
Brandon showed he had range of motion, though it clearly hurt him to move it. “I’m fine,” he said. “Good enough, at least. I want to be part of this.”
“She had no right,” Walt said. “Did you drive her?”
“I had nothing to do with it.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“We talked about it, if that’s what you mean. I told her to talk to a lawyer. She didn’t want to hear that. She was all freaked-out about you having a girl in there. You know how she is.”
He looked the man over: Tommy Brandon, the deputy he wanted in the glider with him; Tommy Brandon, his wife’s lover, a man he wanted nothing to do with.
“How are you in small planes?”
“I hate ’em.”
“Good. Get dressed.”
57
FIONA KENSHAW HAD BEEN GREETED WITH SUSPICION, AS she arrived at the Tulivich’s front door. Someone-from the hospital, perhaps-had leaked to the local press that the sheriff had interviewed their daughter, Kira, in connection with the Mark Aker disappearance, and so the family had put up with several unwanted visitors over the past week.
Fiona’s county employee ID, which she carried in order to enter and photograph crime scenes, put off those suspicions and granted her access. A few minutes later, she was on a leather couch, in front of a log fire, awaiting Kira. The girl looked sheepish and shy but not at all bruised or damaged.
The date-rape cocktail had blocked her memory of the assault, she explained, though she still ached all over, leaving her feeling like she was inhabiting some other girl’s body. There were some follow-up doctor visits yet to come, and counseling had been recommended, though she couldn’t figure out why she would get counseling for something about which she had absolutely no memory.
But for all her claim to remember nothing, Kira had a sullen look, her eyes distant.
“I won’t stay long,” Fiona said. “And I should be clear that I’m not here in any official capacity. I wanted to see how you’re doing and to wish you well. And the sheriff wanted me to pass along that, as it turns out, you’ve played an important role in a very high-level investigation.”
“Seriously?” She feigned interest.
“Small change, I know, but I thought you might want to hear that something good came out of what happened.”
“Something good for other people, you mean?” Delivered with an ice-cold assertion.
“I know it’s not much.”
“What am I supposed to say: happy to do my part?”
Her mother entered the room, trying to appear hospitable-a failed effort.
“I’ve got it, Mom,” Kira snapped. “We’d rather talk alone.”
The mother pursed her lips, and retreated. The exchange sent shivers through Fiona.
A victim was like a pebble in a pond, Fiona realized; the ripples traveled out a great distance.
Kira whispered to Fiona, “I can’t brush my teeth without one of them hovering over me. It’s like I’m on suicide watch or something.”
You probably are, Fiona thought.
“You actually came here to try to make me feel good about what happened?” Kira said incredulously.
“Of course not! Nothing like that. I came to give you these,” she said, handing Kira five photographs from the wedding.
The girl flipped through them. A smile flickered across her face, quickly wiped away by a realization. “Ancient history,” she mumbled. She blinked repeatedly. “It’s weird. I remember this like it was a year ago.”
“That’s someplace to start.”
Biting her lip, Kira studied the photos more slowly. “This one of the bouquet…”
“I didn’t take that one. I threw it in no charge.”
“That’s you.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember you there.”
“I was working. Not exactly dressed for the occasion, as you can see.”
“You caught it.”
“Technically, no. But that’s how the umpire ruled.”
Another smile. Small victories.
“Can I keep these?”
“Of course. They’re for you.”
“Thank you.” She made a point of meeting Fiona’s eyes.
“There’s one other thing. I’m not sure I’m allowed to tell you this, but that’s never stopped me before.” She winced. “And it’s really none of my business. I should say that right off the top. But your family is obviously of some means, and, well, it’s one of those things I feel compelled to do. You know? Have you ever felt that way? Despite your better judgment?”
Kira nodded.
“Good.” Fiona collected her thoughts. “There’s a boy named Taylor Crabtree.”
“That loser?”
“You know him.”
“I see him around. I don’t know him.”
“Well, that’s the point, I guess. He’s the one who rescued you.” She watched this sink in. “From the cabin. He’s who drove you to the hospital.”
“That dork?”
“The same.”
“But why? How?”
“He saw you… abducted. He was able to get you out. No one knows this, by the way. He might be hurt, or even killed, if word got out, so I’m trusting you on this.”
Kira nodded. “I understand. I promise.” She looked around the room in an effort to avoid Fiona. “I just don’t get it. Taylor Crabtree?”
“He’s had a rough time of it. Lousy family scene. Tough conditions. Has found his way into a lot of trouble.”
“I know all about it. A friend of mine was at the Alternative School with him.”
“He works at Elbie’s down in Hailey.”
“You’re thinking some kind of reward, aren’t you?”
“Maybe not quite that obvious. A letter from your father would do a lot. A job that’s better than changing tires. Something to give him a leg up. Then again, maybe it’s not appropriate. I felt obliged to let you know about his role in it. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Let’s leave it at that.”
“I am not writing a thank-you note.”
“You do, or don’t do, whatever you feel is appropriate.”
“He actually got me out of wherever they had me?”
“He did.”
“And you’re sure it wasn’t him that-”
“We are,” Fiona answered.
“Alone?”
“Yes.”