‘Where you coming from?’
‘Carolina.’
‘Jesus. North or South?’
‘South.’
‘Double Jesus.’
Although he couldn’t see her mouth, the girl’s eyes crinkled enough for him to know she’d smiled.
‘So how come,’ Dobey asked, ‘you’re sitting on bench out here, where – officially – the buses don’t run?’
The girl’s eyes met his at last.
‘Because another guy in a truck picked me up about twenty miles south of here, told me he’d give me ten bucks for a hand job, then dumped me when I wouldn’t put out.’
Dobey patted his own vehicle.
‘Then I guess you’ll be avoiding trucks for a while,’ he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. ‘Sorry’ didn’t seem worth the waste of oxygen.
‘I guess so,’ said the girl.
Dobey stared north. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl’s head turn in the same direction.
‘If you squint up the road a ways,’ he said, ‘you’ll see a sign for a diner called Dobey’s. That’s my place: I’m Dobey. Assuming you can tear yourself from your bench, I might be able to offer you a plate of food, a cup of coffee, and maybe a slice of pie to follow. And while you’re getting outside of all that, I can make some calls and see if someone trustworthy, and preferably female, might not be heading into Indianapolis, or at least somewhere with a bus route, which would set you on your way to where you want to be. How does that sound?’
The girl gave the question some thought.
‘It sounds good.’
‘You want me to take your bag, save you the trouble of hauling it up there yourself?’
‘No, I’ll keep it.’ Then: ‘Thanks.’
‘Very sensible of you, and don’t mention it,’ said Dobey. ‘You got a name for the reservation?’
Another crinkle.
‘Mae.’
‘Like the month?’
‘No, Mae with an “e.”’
‘Well, Mae with an “e,” I look forward to seeing you again very soon.’
Dobey got back in his truck and drove on, and fifteen minutes later Mae with an ‘e’ opened the door of the diner, took a stool at the counter, and ate enough to put Dobey’s business briefly in the red while he called Esther Bachmeier. Esther came over and sat with the girl for an hour in a corner booth, and when she returned to Dobey, Mae with an ‘e’ was crying, and Esther wasn’t far from crying either.
Mae with an ‘e’ didn’t go on to Chicago, or Indianapolis, or anywhere else that day – or the next, or even the day after that. In fact, Mae with an ‘e’ stayed in Dobey’s second trailer, the one he’d bought for his expanding book collection, for three weeks, the longest any of the women would ever remain. When she did eventually depart, it was for a shelter in Chicago, and Dobey missed her like a lost limb. In time, Mae with an ‘e’ left the shelter for an apartment so small she had to step outside to change her mind, but it was safe, and warm, and her own space. She now lived in a larger apartment in St Paul, Minnesota, with a baby boy and a guy who didn’t drive a truck and wasn’t a prick. She sent Dobey a card each Christmas, and called him every couple of months, and she’d come down to stay in that same trailer a few Novembers back to help celebrate Dobey’s sixtieth birthday.
So Mae with an ‘e’ was the first, and the others followed. Dobey remembered them all, every one, even those who stayed only a night, but Karis Lamb he recalled more easily than most, because Karis Lamb had been very, very scared.
And very, very pregnant.
10
Warm rain now falling in earnest on the woods of Maine, warm rain falling on field and marsh; the song of spring.
What is there to differentiate one copse from another: a particular arrangement of trees, an unusual combination of shrubs? In this case, an incision on the bark of a black spruce, like a timeworn wound on aged skin, long healed but still visible, if one knew where to look. Call it a star, cut behind creeping ivy, as though the one who made it wished to leave some sign of remembrance without attracting the attention of the curious.
A mark, a grave.
The voice of the rain intoning a name.
It was the season of awakenings.
Sleeper, awake.
11
Quayle was observing Dobey’s features as one might watch a film projected on a screen, anticipating the revelations – or the fictions – to come. Dobey had never claimed to possess a poker face, but he felt certain that even had he been so gifted, Quayle would have been able to see through it with ease. Dobey thought Quayle’s eyes revealed much about the man – an undeniable perspicacity, even a certain cruel humor – yet remained entirely untroubled by humanity. Sitting before him was like finding oneself under the scrutiny of a minor god.
‘Let us assume,’ said Quayle, ‘that you’ve already tried to deny knowledge of Karis, and in reply I have opined that I don’t believe you, and given you some warnings you would be unwise to ignore. It will save us both a lot of trouble.’
‘I don’t know where she went,’ said Dobey.
‘We’re getting ahead of ourselves. When did she arrive here, and how long did she stay?’
Dobey had decided that his best, even only, hope was to answer every question as fully as possible while giving away as little as he could, and in that manner buy himself time. He was praying that Carlos had gone with his gut and called the police, so that even now Chief Dwight Hillick might be gathering his troops. He supposed he could have attempted to give Carlos some sign that all was not well, a little wink or gesture, but the woman had whispered to Dobey exactly what to say from her place of concealment, and made sure his face and hands were in full view as he spoke. Her voice had been surprisingly soft, but her breath stank worse than her body, as though she spent her downtime giving blow jobs to diseased truckers at flyblown rest stops without even pausing to wash out her mouth in between.
Quayle clicked his fingers before Dobey.
‘Back with me,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re just taking a moment in order to ensure a precise recall, and not because you’re procrastinating, or composing a lie.’
‘She stayed for a few days.’
‘When?’
‘About five years ago, maybe more. I don’t remember the exact date, but it was around this time of year. Still cold.’
‘Why didn’t she stay longer?’
‘Some do and some don’t. We get girls who need time to rest and figure out how to turn their lives around, to find work and earn a little money. I can always give them a few hours here or there. Then there are others who are too scared to stay. They want to keep running because they’re afraid that whatever is pursuing them might catch up if they stop.’
‘Such as?’
‘Bad memories, bad people.’
‘Which do you think I represent?’
‘Possibly both.’
‘You know, you’re wasted in the food service industry. You should have gone to college. You had a future in psychological analysis. Now you barely have a future at all. Did Karis tell you why she was running? Think hard. If I have any doubts about the veracity of your statements, I may need to cross-check your answers with Ms Bachmeier.’
‘It was a man,’ said Dobey. ‘She was running from a man. What else would it be?’
‘Did she give you his name?’
‘I didn’t ask. I rarely do.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes. I let them share with me what they want, but I don’t go chasing details.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’ve heard enough, and there’s only so much I can take.’
‘Sensitive?’ said Quayle.