‘What’s the matter, Constance?’
An old man dressed in weathered khaki gear walked around from the rear of the cabin, his arms full of scraps of cardboard and paper. He paused when he saw Sean and Louise at the edge of the clearing.
‘Quiet, Constance.’
The dog kept barking.
‘I said, quiet, Constance, goddamn it.’
Constance’s barks lowered to a deep growl in her chest. She continued to stare at the visitors.
‘Go to bed,’ the old man said. ‘Constance, go to bed, right now. I reckon these two are a little small to be coming to rob us.’
Constance trotted to the cabin’s porch, glancing back at Sean and Louise, and nestled down into a dog bed. The old man walked to the barrel, dropped the armful of cardboard and paper, and used a pair of tongs to remove the grille. He scooped up the garbage and dropped it into the barrel. Fresh flames and embers rippled up, and more smoke. He returned the grille to its place before turning to Sean and Louise.
‘So, what are you kids doing all the way out here in the asshole of beyond?’
Sean took a step forward. The dog lifted its head and barked. The man told her to shut up, goddamn it. He turned back to Sean and said, ‘Speak up, boy.’
‘Sir, we’re lost. We need help.’
The old man looked from Sean to Louise and back again.
‘That right? Well, then I guess you’d better come inside,’ he said.
49
WHITESIDE STUFFED THE few hundred dollars he had left into his bag. He stepped over Collins’ body and left the bag by the back door. A few clothes, the little money he had. It wasn’t much to show for his life.
Thoughts like that had been landing heavy on him for the last hour as he toured the house, gathering up whatever he needed to take with him. That after fifty-five years, there was nothing to show for himself. Each time the idea resurfaced, he stopped whatever he was doing and rode the wave of grief and sorrow, trying not to cry like a baby.
He had no idea where he would run to. Down to the border was the obvious choice, but once he’d crossed into Mexico, what then? Three hundred dollars and some change wouldn’t get him far. But what else was left now?
His last task was to destroy any trace of his conversations on the Dark Web. His ancient laptop sat on the kitchen table. He didn’t know much about these things, but he knew if the feds got hold of the computer, they would surely have everything they needed on him.
Aside from the dead body on his hall floor?
A ridiculous laugh bubbled up from his belly, and he brought a hand to his mouth. Too much of this, he thought. Madness breaking through and surfacing before he could catch it. No more. Now was not the time.
He reached for the laptop, turned it upside down, and examined the bottom. A rectangular cover fastened by a plastic catch contained the hard drive. He thumbed the catch and the cover came away. He pried the hard drive loose, detached the ribbon cable, then dropped it to the floor. His toolbox lay on the cupboard floor. He opened it, took out the claw hammer, and crouched down by the hard drive. Half a dozen sharp blows and he thought the drive was about as broken as it could be. He left the pieces on the floor and went out to the hall, stepping over Collins’ corpse once more.
Whiteside stopped, looked down at her.
What to do? He could simply leave her there, knowing that Mitchell and her people would come looking for him at some point and find Collins instead. Or he could try to hide her. Maybe move her to the trunk of the rental car that was parked outside.
And what good would that do? Maybe none, but he felt it needed doing anyway.
As he bent down to get hold of Collins’ ankles, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket, causing him to cry out. He grabbed for it and looked at the display, didn’t recognize the number. His thumb went to the green. He put the phone to his ear and said nothing.
After a few moments a man’s voice said, ‘Hello?’
‘Who is this?’ Whiteside asked.
‘Is that Ronnie?’
‘Yes. Who is this?’
‘Hey, Ronnie, how are you? This is Bobby McCall, up in Janus.’
Sheriff Bobby McCall, pushing seventy, had served Janus County for more than forty years. He had two more deputies than Whiteside had, and a better budget.
Whiteside cleared his throat, steadied himself.
‘Hey, Bobby, what can I do for you?’
‘Well, I just got a call over the radio from an even older fart than me, John Tandy, up in the forest here. He has a place out in the middle of nowhere, not far from Lake Modesty, or what used to be Lake Modesty before the drought. Crazy old son of a bitch, he was a survivalist before they even had a name for that. He lives out there with his guns and knives, never leaves the place except to get supplies once a month or so. Anyway, John just called me on the radio – he’s got no phone out there – and he says two kids just showed up on his front step.’
Whiteside swallowed, felt a dizzy wave rush through his head. ‘Two kids?’ he asked.
‘Yessir, a boy and a girl. He says they just walked out of the trees and asked for help. Of course I thought of the trouble you’re having down there in Silver Water and called the station. Couldn’t get through, so I tried your cell phone. I hope you don’t mind.’
Whiteside leaned his forehead against the wall. ‘Not at all. The kids’ father put out a reward and the phone lines have been jammed ever since. You did the right thing. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, but the thing is, like I said, John Tandy is about as crazy an old bastard as you’ll ever meet. Not two months ago he radioed to tell me there was government people, NSA or Secret Service or whatever, spying on him through the trees. A month before that, he told me there was UFOs flying over the lake, except they weren’t really UFOs, they were experimental aircraft the government was testing. So, I have to say, there’s a good chance old John somehow heard about the mess down there in Elder, about the two missing kids, and he’s just imagined them appearing on his property. In fact, I’d say it’s probable. He offered to drive them down to me, but I thought I’d check with you first, see how you wanted to play this.’
‘Don’t let him move them,’ Whiteside said, too fast, too hard. He took a breath. ‘It’s just the FBI are running this show. There’s this woman Mitchell.’
‘Is that the black lady I saw on TV?’
‘Yeah, that’s her. She’s a real hard-ass, needs to be in charge all the time. You know the type. She’ll want to organize a team to go up there. If she finds out I let you go past her on this, she’ll tear me a new one. Best to just let her handle it.’
‘I don’t know,’ McCall said. ‘Like I said, John Tandy’s a survivalist, and his cabin’s full of guns from floor to ceiling. He sees feds rolling up, he’s liable to come out shooting.’
‘Tell you what,’ Whiteside said, ‘why don’t I tell Mitchell and her team to stop by your office on the way, take you with them. That way you can smooth things over with this Tandy fella.’
Silence as McCall thought it over for a moment.
‘Well, I guess that’d be all right,’ he said. ‘Like I told you, it’s more than likely it’ll be a waste of everybody’s time. We’ll get out there and old John Tandy’ll say those kids just left ten minutes ago. But if that’s the way you want to do it. You got a number I can reach her on?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll pass it on,’ Whiteside said. ‘Save you the trouble. You got some GPS coordinates for this place?’
‘Yeah, you got a pen to hand?’
‘Sure do. Go ahead.’
Whiteside scribbled the numbers on the back of his hand, thanked McCall, and hung up. Then he steadied himself against the wall as a torrent of giggles rose in him. He laughed so long and so hard that his knees weakened and his head went light. When he thought he could stand it no longer, he slapped himself hard across the cheek, once, twice, three times. Clarity came back in a brutal wave.