Dark to Mortal Eyes (38 page)

“So what kind of evidence are you talking about?”

“The keys to the car. Plus a pair of Kara’s earrings.”

“How can that be proof? He could’ve made copies of the keys. And the earrings? How hard would it be to pick something out at the same store?”

“Josee, we’ve called staff members from the Addison place to corroborate his claims. The first showed up a few minutes ago, took one look at the earrings, and started cryin’. Mexican lady. Marlena. Poor thing’s shaken up real bad. How ’bout you? You okay?”

“You know me.”

“I’m beginning to think I do.” Turney scrambled back to safe ground. “The force is working on this hard and fast. Tracking down the kid’s address, a list of his buddies, teachers, schools, bosses, stompin’ grounds, et cetera. Couple of other things that we’re keepin’ close to the chest for now. Story hits the news at eleven, if you wanna catch my ugly mug. KMTR … channel 16.”

“Sarge, you ever sleep?”

“During the news? All the time. Seriously, my segment was taped earlier.”

“Okay, but you’ve been on this since what time this morning?”

“Mmm, who knows? Point is, I’m back in the ring. Full ten rounds.”

“So what do you think? Did he hurt her? Is my mother safe? If this kid’s turned himself in, why doesn’t he tell where she is? Could be a wacko playing a prank, looking for his fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Might’ve nailed it on the head, Josee. He says he’ll give us her whereabouts and sign a confession so long as we broadcast a live statement. Kid wants to see his face on the news. We’re still battin’ around the best way to approach this.”

“Let him, if it means finding out where my mother is.”

“That’ll be the chief’s decision.”

“Oh, yippee. You know, Braddock was asking me personal questions at the hospital this morning. Don’t know what business it is of his.”

“He’s got me workin’ with you on this, so he’s probably keeping tabs.”

“How can you trust a boss like that, Sarge? A stinkin’ control freak.”

“Wanna know somethin’? Chief paid for Milly’s memorial service.”

“Your fiancée?”

“Uh-huh. Took up donations around town and covered the whole thing. Her parents died years and years ago, and she had no life insurance, nothing. I was scrapin’ at the time, so things weren’t looking good. Until he stepped in.” Turney thrummed his fingers down the venetian blinds in his office. Talking about Milly hurt but in a good way—like a wound being lanced of its poison. “Josee, I know how tough things are for ya. Hang in there. Everything hit the fan after Milly’s passing, and I had to tell my heart to keep beatin’. Didn’t understand where the Lord was in the middle of it all, and next thing, I’d stopped doing the Sunday morning routine. Never stopped lovin’ him, not deep down, just couldn’t stomach any more of the baloney.”

“Don’t you mean the—” Josee substituted her own expletive.

“Blue-collar word for it. Fits, I guess. You like tryin’ to trip me up, don’t you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Doesn’t it get tiring?”

“Is that what you do, try to avoid all the unknowns? That’s a lame excuse for existence.” Josee expelled a breath of frustration. “Bet you don’t even question it.”

“Question it all the time. Lotsa questions and not many answers.”

“Least you admit it. Am I off base, Sarge? Is it so wrong to question?”

“Not in my book.”

“I mean, didn’t God give us minds to use?”

“Listen, if Jesus is the answer, there’s no need to be afraid of the questions.”

“Exactly. Thank you.”

After exhausting the updated info, Sergeant Turney said good-bye, and Josee told him that she’d be watching channel 16 for her favorite new television star. The comment enlivened him. Using humor was a good sign on her part. A tough little cookie, she’d had a lot to deal with in a short span. He did note, however, that during their conversation she had never mentioned her mother by name. Was Josee Walker disengaging herself? Going back into survival mode?

Kara had given him an answer. Time to pass it on to Marsh.

Despite his captive’s entreaties, Stahlherz refitted a gag around her mouth. He lifted her hair so it wouldn’t snag in the folds of cloth, then brushed it back down, soft as a feather, with his hands. Holding the crude handrail, he closed his ears to her pleas, turned off the light, and walked up the cellar steps.

Actors in position! Stage lights and props.

He speed-dialed for another scene in the drama.

Karl Stahlherz relished the drama of it all. He was at the mammoth stone fireplace in the Addisons’ beach house, the queen was in his possession, and the king was beholden to locate that journal. The tactics played out so effortlessly.

He was heading for the door when he heard footsteps on the front deck.

The Lincoln County sheriff? Had she returned, baiting him even as she had passed by him on the lane, waiting to catch him red-handed?

His fingers wrapped around the dagger in the pocket of his corduroy jacket. He inched toward the sliding-glass door. One part of him resented this complication, while another welcomed it. At the chessboard, these were the things that stimulated him—the-edge-of-your-seat awareness that a game may be won or lost on the finesse of a simple pawn maneuver, something unexpected yet obvious.

Scritchh, scritchh …
Footsteps scraped over the sand-dusted wood.

Stahlherz paused, his nostrils piqued by the odor of his traveling companion, the intrusive rook. With the hiss of a steam-pressure valve, the black presence lifted his arms, tugged at his extremities. He felt a desire to lift and lower his arms, lift and lower, then to open his lips and release the shriek of this proud beast.

No! Don’t distract me now, you fool. Stay where you belong
.

Outside, on the planks, the feet ceased their shuffling.

Stahlherz felt his breathing stop. Then in a movement beyond his control, he cracked his hand to his forehead in the manner of a salute. No! Must harness it. He clamped the hand back to his side, determined to master this creature that had become far too unruly. Fuming, Stahlherz shook the thoughts from his head and drew his dagger. Poised to deliver a blow.

He watched a figure move toward the door handle, heard a meek voice call out.

“Hello, is anyone here? Hello, it’s me … Rosie.”

Stahlherz slid the door open, gripped Rosie’s hand, and pulled her in from the porch.

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed, grasping a carpetbag to her stomach. “Show an old woman a little respect. You startled me.”

He closed the door and edged her toward the monstrous fireplace. Safe from outside detection, he helped her with her coat. “I didn’t expect you so soon. Glad you arrived unharmed.”

“Thank you, Stahli,” she said without fear. “Audentes fortuna juvat.”

“Yes, Professor,” he responded. “Fortune favors the daring.”

P
ART
F
OUR

We may stand, if only on one leg,
or at least … upon our knees.…
A pawn? Perhaps;
but on the wrong chessboard.

The Return of the King
by J. R. R. Tolkien

“Don’t sin by letting anger
gain control over you.” … 
Anger gives a mighty foothold to the Devil.

Ephesians 4:26–27

Marsh Addison’s mind was a raging pyre. Confusion, anger, fear, betrayal—they were bundles of straw tossed onto the flames. The balls of his feet burned in his Mundazi loafers, and a sheen of perspiration lay across his forehead.

Yes, his discovery of the journal had offered hope, but it torched everything he’d grown to believe about his father.

The call from Steele Knight had further stirred his turmoil. Marsh wanted to snap the man’s neck; he wanted to strike vengeful blows that would stray far from the love Virginia spoke of.

If I could just get my hands on that bag of scum … One minute, that’s all I’d need!

Marsh paced the hallway in his mother’s seaside condo. From the kitchen, the sand candle’s light brushed the walls in gold. He thought of Virginia’s assertions:
Your love can soften and free her.… Your pent-up anger … will be nothing but a detriment
.