The Edge of Lost (31 page)

“You don’t have anything set?”

“She’s in Kentucky, some town by a big river. Works on a switchboard. There can’t be all that many. And Sadie knows a few more details. We’ll find her before long.”

“Wait,” Nick said. “You plan to just traipse around with this kid, knocking on doors?” He shook his head, bewildered. “You realize you’ll be in every major paper in the country, right? Make that both of you now.”

Shan downed a gulp of wine. It wasn’t an ideal plan, but what were the choices?

“I’ll … get a disguise,” he said.

“No. No way. Do you know the headache, not to mention the dough, it cost me to get you out of that hellhole?” Nick leaned on the table toward him. “In four months, I got everything set up at Leavenworth. Two guards, the chaplain, a surefire plan. Even a cellmate to make sure you didn’t go and die before I could bust you out. Then what do you do? You get yourself transferred to the most secure prison in the damn country.”

Shan stared at him, dumbfounded. His thoughts drifted back to Mitty, a friendly cellmate eager to help. And the chaplain, Father Anthony.

“Almost two years it took me to finagle this,” Nick charged on. “That jazz group had to be personally requested
twice
by congressmen. And that’s not including the favors to get that priest transferred to Alcatraz. So I don’t know how you’re gonna get this girl to her mother, but unless you both want a trip right back to that island, I strongly suggest—”

“I’ll do it.” Josie’s voice abruptly turned Shan and Nick. She stood halfway across the room, a protective arm around Sadie.

Shan put down his glass, noting the worry in the girl’s face. He rose and made his way over. He didn’t have to wonder how long they’d been listening.

When he reached them, Josie said, “Sadie explained everything. You were right to bring her, Tommy.” Her resolve made clear Sadie’s sufferings had struck a personal chord. Yet Josie seemed to have forgotten her own predicament.

“You’re not supposed to be drawing any attention,” Shan told her.

“And I won’t. Fact is, I’m the only person in the room who’s got nobody looking for ’em.”

Oddly she was right about that. Still, how could Shan possibly walk away, leave the girl with virtual strangers?

Appearing to understand, Josie eased down to Sadie’s level and spoke in a gentle voice. “Sweetie, can I ask you somethin’?”

Sadie pursed her lips, stained purple, waiting.

“Now, I know we just met. And it can be real scary to venture out with folks you don’t know. But if you’ll let me, I’ll do everything in my power to get you back to your mama. I swear on my life, we won’t rest till we find her.” Josie used a thumb to brush crumbs from Sadie’s cheek. “Could you trust me enough to do that?”

For several seconds Sadie peered into Josie’s eyes, as if seeking evidence for an honest answer. Then she looked up at Shan in silent debate.

Shan wanted to say he would join them, that he would help deliver her to her mother firsthand. He wanted so desperately to be there when the two embraced, assuring him of the happy ending Sadie deserved. But he also knew his presence would only jeopardize the chance of that ever happening.

Siding with logic, against the pull of his heart, he gave Sadie a nod—a pledge that she could believe his friend.

With a look of understanding Sadie returned to Josie, and she agreed.

Just then, someone pounded at the door.

The room halted.

“Time to beat it outta here,” the voice said, muffled through the wood.

Nick’s shoulders lowered. He called back, “All right, Jimmy. Warm up the car.”

Josie smiled at Shan, a sign that she would make good on her word. He already knew she would. But at this very moment, it shrank to the smallest of his worries.

Slow with reluctance, for a final time he lowered onto one knee before Sadie. Emotion billowed inside as he realized that while he just might have saved this little girl—this brave adventurer capable of conquering the world—she had managed, in more ways than one, to save him right back.

“You’re gonna be okay now,” he said, his voice turning hoarse.

She nodded and offered a wisp of a smile. Somehow she was the one giving the real reassurance.

Not ready to leave, he tapped the compass around her neck. “You keep that, all right? So whenever you feel lost, and you think there’s no way out, you just remember this day.”

At this, her chin crinkled and her eyes went glossy with tears. Shan resisted a rush of his own. He had far more to say, but aware he’d choke on the words, he just lifted his hands and said, “Come here, smarty.”

Sadie leapt forward and threw her arms around him. He felt moisture from her tears on his cheek, and the soft patter of her heart. “I won’t ever forget you,” she whispered.

Needless to say, he felt exactly the same about her.

A quarter of the moon now shone over the vineyard, lighting a path to the sedan. Behind the steering wheel, Jimmy puffed away, anxious to leave. Warmth lingered through Shan’s sleeves from his farewell hug with Sadie, then Josie.

“This is for you,” Nick said, handing him a travel bag as they walked.

“What is it?”

“Some money, new ID, books from Lina. A change of clothes. You can put them on during the drive. You got a long road ahead.”

Shan pulled out the envelope, thick with cash, far more than he would have expected. “Nick—this is too much.”

“Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

“But you and Josie are gonna need that. Especially now, with Sadie.”

Nick hedged, looking away, not answering.

It wasn’t from him, Shan realized. “I take it this is from Max, huh?”

At the car, Nick hitched his hands on his hips. “Look. Max helped plenty, pulling strings and all. But this—he didn’t want me to say, but this is from Pop.”

“Pop?” Shan said.

“Apparently he keeps a hefty stash for a rainy day. Must’ve pinched pennies here and there for years.”

Shan recalled the morning he’d first trailed Mr. Capello to the tracks, how the activity had become their special secret. Maybe it still was.

“Now, remember,” Nick said, opening the back door. “When Jimmy gets you to your next stop, you lay low. I mean, not even showing your mug in the window for at least a month. You got that?”

“I got it.” Shan tossed the bag into the backseat, which rumbled from the idling motor. “And,
you
remember. If anything goes wrong with Sadie—”

“You’ll hear about it,” Nick stressed. “But hell, after pulling off tonight? Finding this mom will be a walk in the park.”

Jimmy urged over his shoulder, “You want any chance of crossing state lines, we gotta go.”

Shan stood at the open door, not wanting to climb in. “Well … I guess this is good-bye.”

“For now,” Nick asserted, his words underscored by his signature smirk. Then he drew Shan into a hug. “You’re my brother,” he said near his ear. “We’ll meet up again.”

Then Shan got into the sedan and shut the door. He raised a hand as they pulled away and Nick’s silhouette faded into the darkness.

Bumping along the dirt road, Shan opened the bag. A small pouch lay in an upturned fedora. He shook out its contents of spectacles, a fake mustache, even his old sixpence. It wasn’t a wild guess that he’d need any luck it possessed.

He set the items aside. Packed below a black suit and wingtips were books that had once belonged to his mother, except for one.
The Man in the Iron Mask.
He opened the cover and read the inscription:
I was wrong. Life is full of second chances.—Josie

Shan surely hoped to prove the theory.

He noticed a document peeking from the pages. A new identity for a new start. He unfolded the paper and only then did his tears start to fall. For the name Nick had chosen wasn’t that of a stranger. It was Shanley Keagan, a name he’d spent more than half his life earning back.

52

I
t was official: Tommy Capello was dead.

At a press conference three days after the escape, Warden Johnston proclaimed the news. “After an extremely thorough investigation,” the papers quoted, “we have every reason to believe the prisoner drowned. The U.S. Coast Guard has located the rowboat the inmate acquired by force. It was badly damaged and upended from the storm. There is no evidence to suggest a landing in the surrounding areas, and no cars were reported stolen within forty-eight hours of the attempted escape. The dense fog and strong currents would have made it almost impossible for anyone but a highly trained seaman to navigate the boat effectively. As a precaution, however, we will continue our search efforts, working closely with local authorities and the FBI to ensure the citizens of San Francisco are safe.”

In the end, Shan supposed, Alcatraz’s escape-proof title remained moderately intact, since no fleeing prisoner had made it out alive. A distinction that brought comfort to many.

Even more than residents on the mainland, civilians on the Rock were desperate for an assurance of security. And they soon received it with little help from the warden. Aside from a few initial articles questioning a connection between the prison break and Sadie Martin’s disappearance, journalists were quick to uncover a darker story of an alcoholic guard whose violent tantrums could have led to the death of his young daughter.

“I tried to look out for her as often as I could,” their neighbor, Mrs. Leonard, lamented to the papers. “Being next door, we knew things weren’t right for some time, but we never dreamt it would come to this.”

The woman had reportedly visited Sadie’s apartment, intending to offer her help in preparing for the Halloween party, but the girl had gone missing. Not unusual, in and of itself. But a bloodied shirt in her room—from cutting her own hair, Shan would guess—had raised grave concern. When immediately questioned, her intoxicated father had flared with anger, spurring the warden to launch an immediate search. Island investigators further concluded that the distraction of the girl’s disappearance, coupled with heavy fog, had provided a clear opportunity for Tommy Capello’s escape.

Escape, of course, being a relative term.

Seven weeks had passed since the breakout and still Shan remained in hiding, confined to a remote log cabin in Oregon. He’d received no word about Sadie—a good sign really. By now, he had faith the girl had been reunited with her mother. If not, he knew Nick wouldn’t give up until he reached the goal. Shan just wished he, too, had a worthwhile mission. Other than waiting.

He’d reread each of his books four times and played countless rounds of cards. Always solitaire. His host was a reclusive lumberjack whose range of preferred vocabulary was as wide as his menu, which consisted of five dishes. Shan had yet to learn his name and relation to Nick; it went without saying that ignorance would benefit them both.

Fortunately, outdoor sounds—twigs snapping, branches rustling—had lost their initial impact, and Shan no longer imagined G-men stalking behind trees, closing in for the kill. On the downside, the isolation had grown wearing. Although there were no steel bars, some days it seemed they were there but simply invisible.

It was another Monday afternoon—or was it Wednesday? Shan sat at the small hand-carved table, eating beef stew yet again. He had to confess, he did miss the food at Alcatraz, if nothing else. The woodstove crackled and raindrops streaked the room’s lone window. Another gray overcast sky. He slurped more stew and wiped his short beard with his sleeve. Every day he hoped the all-clear sign Jimmy had promised would arrive before Shan became as grizzly as the lumberjack.

Right then, as if conjured by the thought, the man plodded into the house, bringing the smell of dampened trees. Back from a periodic trip to town, he closed the door with his boot and set down a sack from the store, a newspaper and magazine poking from inside. He hung his raincoat on a wall hook made from an antler.

Greetings were wasted, Shan had learned, met with silence or a grunt. He didn’t bother now, partly due to his own sour mood. He just returned to forcing down his meal.

The man pulled an envelope from a back pocket of his coveralls. He ripped it open and slid out cash that he briskly counted. From the bottom of the pile, he unfolded a single sheet of newspaper. The top half of a front page, it appeared. After a glance, he tossed the clipping over to Shan.

The headline shouted in bold letters.

 

 

Shan perked in his seat. He dove into the article.

On December sixteenth, Ralph Roe and Theodore Cole, after weeks of secretive sawing, broke through a window sash in the Model Industries Building. They kicked out two glass panes to reach the ledge. Using a wrench, they removed the padlock of a gate used for discarding tires and proceeded to the rocky shore with empty five-gallon oil cans, intended for floatation. At his request, Roe had recently transferred to work in the mat shop beside longtime friend Cole. The felons had likely been inspired to swim from the northern tip of the island after the escape of Tommy Capello. As with the previous incident, Roe and Cole were presumed to have drowned in the fast-moving tide, though searches would continue with the aid of revenue cutters, Coast Guard vessels, and police craft.

Shan paused in his reading. He noticed an indention from handwritten letters on the other side of the paper. He flipped it over.
Bon voyage,
it said in pencil over newsprint.

This was the sign. The message he’d been waiting for. A smile stretched his mouth and a laugh bubbled out of him. The lumberjack frowned, not understanding. But Shan did. With Roe and Cole taking priority, the case of Tommy Capello would fall to the back of the files. Shan was finally able to leave.

Just to be certain, he continued through the article. It went on to describe a history of the criminal acts committed by the two felons. What followed were snippets related to Alcatraz: an inmate strike that had been subdued in the fall; injuries Warden Johnston had incurred months ago from an attack by disgruntled prisoner Burton “Whitey” Phillips.

Shan was skimming to the bottom, expecting a standard history of the island as a military fort, when a name stopped him cold.
Fred Martin,
it read,
the former Alcatraz guard who was relieved of duty following the disappearance of his ten-year-old daughter, died in the midst of a police investigation in November. Police claim Martin was intoxicated when he drove off the Pleasant Valley Bridge. It is unclear whether the act was deliberate or accidental.

Shan read the summary again and sank into his seat, the last of his worries melting away.

Wherever she was now, Sadie, too, was free.