The deal was, if I could find out where Danny’s body was, Griffin would let me run. Pumping Ty was my Get Out of Jail Free card.
I met Griffin the next night in the lot across the park from the library. I’d told Shan I was going to the library and then to Gillian’s. The Camry was parked in the shadow of a maple that was starting to turn color. I got in the back. “Keep your hood up and your head down till I tell you,” Griffin said. He started the car.
I don’t know what route he drove. I hunched low and watched light and shadow glide across the upholstery. It stank of dead cigarettes, like the couch at one of my foster homes. The vibration of the car synced with the fear humming in my gut. There were no streetlights now, just darkness, and the car kept rolling. “I think I might be sick back here,” I told him.
“We’ll be there soon,” was all I got back. The car slowed. I felt it bump off the road. A little farther, then we stopped. “Wait,” Griffin said. He got out of the car. I waited. A moment later he opened my door. “Out and inside.”
We were out of town, parked behind some kind of barn or shed. A chilly breeze rustled the weeds—maybe we were close to the lake. The fresh air felt good. Griffin swung the barn door, and we went inside.
The place was dim and full of smells and junk: lumber, fence wire, tires, windows, an old Volkswagen. The dirt on the floor looked oily. Griffin pulled a string and light leaked from a bare bulb in the rafters. “Where are we?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He led me behind a pile of boards. He had a plastic grocery bag. He took out white surgical tape and the box that held a battery-pack transmitter and the wire. “Pull up your shirt.” The chill grabbed at me. Griffin put on latex gloves. He was fast and efficient. He taped the transmitter to the small of my back. “Drop your pants.” He ran the wire under my crotch and up the center of my chest. The tape nagged at me every time I moved, glowing even whiter than my skin in the shadows.
“What do I say?”
He shrugged and tore off another piece of tape from the roll. “You’re the crap expert.”
“What if I don’t get him?”
“First, you may not get him tonight—it might take a little time. Second, I got nothing to do for the rest of my life. I’ll come after you even if you run, and so will Homeland, the Mounties, FBI, you name it. You’ll be looking over your shoulder until one of us gets you. And I guarantee you’ll wish it’s me. Lift your chin higher.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Don’t kid me. Bullshit is right up your alley.” He adjusted the wire and pressed the tape to my chest.
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Sometimes I wish I was. But I’m not. Okay, we’re done.” I pulled my jeans up and my shirt down. Griffin reached back into the plastic bag and handed me what looked like a joint in plastic wrap. “Put it in your pocket. Give it to him. It’ll mellow him out and put you in good. He’ll start talking anyway.”
We left the barn and drove again, me hunched in the back. I did what he told me. I couldn’t see any other way. When he finally let me sit up, I had to slouch to keep the transmitter from digging into my back. Griffin lit a cigarette and cracked his window. A rush of road noise and cool air found me. “I’m not going to ask who you are,” he said over it.
And there it was again, my favorite question. “Danny,” I said. I knew it was pathetic now, and I knew I could have told him anything, but I wasn’t giving up my last shred of…whatever—dignity, I guess. And in some weird way, I couldn’t let Shan down. Griffin didn’t say anything, just held his cigarette by the open window. The slipstream blew the smoke right back in to me. I said, “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m old-fashioned. I believe in truth and justice.”
“Shan already hates you.” I wanted to rub something in. “You’ll flip her out.”
“It’s not a nice thought to face, is it? One of your brothers murdering the other. I guess that means she’s going to hate you too—if she doesn’t already.”
I wasn’t going to think about that. I pushed harder. “Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Sure, it bothers me. Does it bother you how you’ve abused that family’s trust?”
“What have I done except make them happy?”
Griffin took a last drag and flicked the half-smoked butt out the window. “You can’t live a lie,” he said. “It’s a cancer.”
“You are so wrong,” I muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Happiness isn’t truth.” Griffin put up his window.
This time he was right. Happiness was better.
It was maybe half an hour to Peterborough. It was deep twilight now. We drove to a neighborhood of dumpy old houses. Griffin showed me Ty’s place as we rolled past. It was especially crappy, with a mattress on the patch of front lawn and some two-by-fours propping up one end of the porch roof. He parked the car just around the corner and opened the glove compartment. The receiver for the wire was the size of an electric shaver. He plugged it into the dashboard outlet and unspooled an earbud connection. Then he looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Ground floor, back, number two. Front door’s always open. He’ll be there—he always is, this time of night. When you turn the corner out here, say something as a test. I’ll flash my lights if it’s working. If I don’t, come back here.” I looked away and nodded, shrinking deeper into my hoodie. Griffin popped in the earpiece. “Got the joint?” I nodded again. “It’ll get you in the door, get him started if nothing else. Then take your time, see what you can get. Like I said before, we may have to do this more than once.”
The hell with that, I thought. It was now or never. I swung the car door open.
“And…” Griffin said. I turned. “Be careful. He’s jumpy as hell, even when he’s stoned. We don’t need anything happening to you”—I started to get out— “before this is done.” I slammed the door.