“So no motive.”
Blankenship looked at Mark as if he were wondering whether he could justify arresting him on charges of aggravated annoyance.
“I’ll tell you what you ought to do right now, Mr. Novak,” the sheriff said, getting out of his chair and unfolding to his full, impressive height. Mark was six foot, and Blankenship towered over him. “Don’t waste my time questioning me about motive before you’ve even met the man. Go visit Ridley Barnes. Talk to the wrongfully accused old boy in person. Then you give me a call. You tell me after meeting him if you really think this one is worth your time and dollars. You tell me what you think about motive.”
“Fair enough,” Mark said, knowing that Jeff London would be furious with him for letting the interview end so abruptly but not caring because Jeff didn’t want this one anyhow. As the sheriff had aptly observed, the case didn’t even meet the standards for Innocence Incorporated. Jeff had exiled Mark up here, and all Mark had to do was play out the string and wait to be summoned home.
“Let me show you out,” the sheriff said. They left the office and walked back down the hall and to the main door.
“Where are you staying?” the sheriff asked.
“Haven’t decided yet.”
“Really? All the way up from Florida without a hotel reservation?”
“Didn’t realize it was peak season in Garrison.”
The sheriff gave a wan smile as he opened the door. “I suspect you’ll find a room still available. And you let me know what you think of Ridley. Be mighty curious to see how he tugs on your heartstrings.”
“I’ll let you know. Say, whatever happened to the kid she went in there with? The boyfriend. He still around?”
That provoked a thoughtful nod. “Evan Borders. He’s a treat. There were plenty of police who had a hard-on for him ahead of Barnes in that case. Not because of the evidence. More because of the... character, I suppose you’d say.”
“He’s trouble.”
“His daddy was trouble, and Evan and the Leonards, his cousins, they carry on the legacy. The three of them run round here like a pack of feral dogs looking for things to snap at. But they pale in comparison with Ridley. He may be a true sociopath.”
“Right.”
Blankenship scrutinized Mark and said, “Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Feel free.”
“You’re in the pro bono investigation business, am I right?”
“Yes.”
“I would think a man finds himself in that line of work because he cares. No offense, Mr. Novak, but I don’t get the feeling that you give a damn about this.”
“Until I know whether we’re taking a case, I try to keep my emotional distance,” Mark said. “It’s tough to get invested in one when you might be pulled off it. Make sense?”
“I suppose,” the sheriff said, but he didn’t seem satisfied with the answer. “Something you need to consider, whether you want to preserve your, um, emotional distance or not: Sarah matters to people here. The people you’ll be talking to? They don’t have that distance, son.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when I see them,” Mark said.
“You be careful what doors you knock on around here, Novak.”
“That a threat?”
“Not in the least. You’re just... not acquainted with the place yet.”
“That doesn’t sound like a real warm endorsement of your hometown, Sheriff.”
Blankenship looked off to the darkening sky above the old limestone courthouse.
“Real storm’s coming tomorrow, you know. If you were to want to go back to the Sunshine State, tonight would be the time to fly out.”
“Going to get that bad, eh?”
“I don’t put much stock in forecasts, personally. There’s some calling for ten inches of snow here, others are saying it’ll be warm enough to keep it mostly rain. Like I said, I’ve learned not to trust them. Just to be ready. You learn the same in Florida, with the hurricanes and whatnot? Or do you trust the forecasts down there?”
“We still talking about the weather?”
The sheriff gave a humorless smile. “You’re a symbolic man, are you?”
“Actually, no.”
“Good, because I like straight talk. And I’ve given it. The weather is the weather. The warnings are the warnings. If I were you, I’d pay attention to both.”
2
He’d have to speak with Sarah Martin’s family at some point, and part of him wanted to have that done before he met with Ridley Barnes. It wasn’t a large enough part to win the day, though. He knew the family already in ways that they wouldn’t understand, and he wanted to protect them until the last possible moment.
Instead, he drove out of town, following the GPS directions to the address Ridley Barnes had provided. He called Jeff London while he drove and got his voice mail.
“Jeff, it’s Mark. Local law wasn’t real happy to see me, and they’re curious why in the hell we’re up here when nobody was charged, let alone convicted. I’ve got no answer for that. I don’t like being put in a position where I’ve got no answers. I know you’ll say I earned my ticket here, but these people don’t understand that, and it’s not fair to them. I don’t want to sit down with that girl’s family and lead them on. Consider that and give me a call, please.”
Ridley Barnes lived about nine winding miles outside Garrison in a single-story house with faded stone walls and a slouching roof. Undulating fields spread out in every direction, broken stalks of wheat protruding from the snow. Smoke rose from the chimney of the house and blended into the gray sky. By the time Mark was out of the car, the front door was open and a man in jeans and a hooded Carhartt work coat peered out at him.
“You lost?”
“You Ridley Barnes?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m not lost.” Mark went up to the porch. Ridley Barnes watched him suspiciously. He had long, unkempt gray hair and a matching beard. His blue eyes seemed bright against it.
“You know my name, then I ought to hear yours.”
“Markus Novak.”
No reaction.
“I’m with Innocence Incorporated.”
The bright eyes widened and Barnes said, “No shit! Didn’t figure to hear from you, but I did figure I’d hear by phone, if anything, not have you just show up like this.”
“It’s not our standard procedure,” Mark acknowledged. He was looking at the heavy canvas jacket. You didn’t encounter them in Florida, but there had been other places in his life where they’d been common. His mother had given him one for Christmas, paid for with money she’d conned off tourists by telling them she was a Native American spirit guide even though she wasn’t even Native American, and told him, It’s rugged and durable, kiddo. Just like you. The first real fight he ever got into was with an older kid who’d tried to steal that coat. You weren’t supposed to win your first fight, but if you did, as Mark happened to, it was awfully easy to get a taste for it.
“I wasn’t even sure you’d talk to me,” Barnes said. “Seeing as how I’m not on death row.”
“The good news, Mr. Barnes, is that I am.” Ridley gave him a confused look, and Mark said, “I’m a little out of favor with my boss at the moment. I think he liked the idea of sending me into the snow. You know how it goes.”
“Sure, sure,” Barnes said, and he offered an uncertain smile. “Come in out of the cold.”
Mark followed him inside. A fire was going in an old cast-iron woodstove in one corner of the living room, and ropes were draped all around it. Ridley stepped through them nimbly without appearing to even watch his feet.