41

As Preach stood in front of Claire’s cell and unlocked the door, all he could see was an image of the last night he had spent with Ari, making love as rain slashed the windows, the rise and fall of her chest as she slept, thunder rattling the panes, his gaze lingering on the sharp angles and delicate curves of her face, the fine-boned features radiating strength and mystery and integrity, a woman he loved inside and out.

How could he have been so stupid?

“You’re free to go,” he said to Claire.

She sat up on her cot, blinking the sleep away. It was 6 a.m. Sunday morning. Preach had spent the night at the station, dealing with Mackenzie and the aftermath, unable to sleep as the adrenaline ebbed. “What happened?”

“Mackenzie confessed.”

“Mackenzie ? David’s Mackenzie ?”

As Preach gave her an abbreviated version of the story, Claire’s face turned whiter and whiter, until she clenched the bedsheet and jumped to her feet. “That bitch. I can’t believe . . . oh God, Joe. Oh my God.”

He held the cell door open while she sobbed, understanding the power of closure. He didn’t try to comfort her, and she didn’t ask him to.

When she calmed, she dried her eyes and shrugged into a gray sweater. “You kept investigating, didn’t you? After I was arrested?”

“I did.”

“Why did you believe me ?”

“Just a gut instinct.”

“Well,” she said, tossing her hair and lacing her pink designer tennis shoes before she stepped into the hallway, “thanks.” She said it in a flippant manner, almost coldly.

“It’s my job.”

“I still can’t believe you arrested me” she said, with a shake of her head.

He shut the cell door behind her. “Is that right?”

“I just, you know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“I didn’t think you would do it.”

“You mean because I was in love with you?”

“I wouldn’t go that far . . . maybe lust is a better term?”

He pressed his lips together, nodding. “You think you’re pretty special, don’t you?”

“I just did what a mother had to do. To get justice for my son.” “You think I worked the case because I was attracted to you?”

“No, I think you worked it harder because of that.” She took a step closer and laid a hand on his arm. “Didn’t you?”

He pulled his arm away. “I’d say we’ll see each other around, but we probably won’t.”

“It was nothing personal, Joe.”

He smiled at her, soft and knowing. “I finally figured it out, you know” “Figured out what?”

“You still want to know why I believed you?”

“Sure,” she said, her voice cold and distant once again.

“Something about your involvement in the case—about you in general—always struck me as off. I never could put my finger on what it was until last night. I’m a detective, see. I’m trained to look for incongruities. Contradictions. You’re a very good actress, Claire, but what kills any great lie is a kernel of truth that shines through. In my world, it’s usually guilt. But in your case, I realized the only thing about you that was genuine was your grief.”

After seeing Claire out, Preach went back to the holding cells to check on Blue. She was still sleeping soundly, curled on her side like a child.

It struck him how young and brave she was. He wished he could do something to improve her circumstances, to bring back her father, but maybe this experience would be a wake-up call to her mother.

He decided to let Blue sleep, but he made a vow to do something for her that very day.

Just as soon as he got some rest.

Because he had a feeling he would need it.

Later that evening, as the fading sunlight backlit the horizon, whorls of pink dancing through wispy banks of clouds, Preach parked outside Bentley Montgomery’s two-story house in East Durham. He was out of his jurisdiction, but he didn’t care. It was not meant to be a visit made in his official capacity.

This one was personal.

One of Bentley’s black-suited goons opened the door. Preach flashed his badge right away to ward off trouble. “I’m here to see Bentley.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Just tell him it’s Detective Everson.”

The bodyguard closed the door. When it opened a few minutes later, Bentley himself stepped outside, dressed in dark slacks, a purple dress shirt, and an ankle-length wool overcoat. “Walk with me, Detective.”

“Where to ?”

Bentley had already left the front stoop. “To see the neighborhood. Unless you’re too afraid of East Durham to take a little stroll?”

Preach stuffed his hands in the pockets of his double-breasted overcoat. “Lead on.”

A few inches taller than Preach, thicker even than the bodyguard, Bentley patted his ample belly and said, “I have to work in my evening constitutional, and I thought it might be good for you to visit your own backyard.”

“I know East Durham.”

“Do you now?” he chuckled, as they started down a sidewalk warped by tree roots. “Or do you just know the pimps and pushers you arrest?”

“Speaking of arrests, Cobra has stabilized.”

“Who ?” Bentley said.

Preach didn’t give him the benefit of a reaction. “I’ll be interviewing him in the morning. Durham PD gets him next.”

When Preach glanced over at Bentley, he was chilled by the utter lack of concern in his eyes.

“That house right there,” Bentley said, pointing at a tiny bungalow with windows covered with shredded plastic, “belongs to the widow of a war veteran. The government says they overpaid on her husband’s disability. They’re claiming a hundred grand in back benefits. She’s eighty- five and works two jobs, because neither employer gives her any health benefits. Slave labor, is what it is.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Preach said quietly.

“That brick ranch over there, with all the junk in the yard? Momma’s a crack whore, raising three boys by herself. I give them about a year before they end up in juvie or dead.”

“Or working for you on the corner.”

Bentley’s lips parted in a faint smile. “Durham’s so progressive these days. I love that we got all these initiatives for clean energy, net neutrality, save the trees, save the planet, save the universe. Those are worthy things, detective. Lofty goals. Well, how about this—I got people living around me with no heat or air conditioning, moldy roofs, using food stamps for potato chips and soda because they can’t afford anything else. I got kids getting sick from filthy water. Kids sleeping in the gutter. Kids with every male relative they know either in prison or unable to get a job because they just got out.”

“Don’t forget kids getting hooked on the crack you sell.”

“The dire situation in Yemen? Honduras? The Sudan? Americans have no clue how people live in their own backyard, not to mention some continent they’ve never been to. How about all of these civic- minded people around here look around and fix the damn ghetto ? The place right in front of their noses where kids are actually living in terrible conditions and actually getting sick and dying? What’s the difference between Durham and the Germans who watched the Holocaust and did nothing, except a matter of degree ? Slow or fast, it’s murder all the same.”

“I know what you’re doing to the trailer park, Bentley. I know about David too.”

“Then why don’t you put the cuffs on? Or is this my last walk of freedom?”

Again, the lack of concern in his voice unnerved the detective, as if the man already knew what Preach was going to say and didn’t care one bit.

“I’ve been reading up on stress and the stoics,” Bentley said. “Did you know there’s a human propensity to sort everything into good or bad news? It’s evolutionary. Combine that with a twenty-four news cycle that preys on fear, and you got an entire country worried about all the wrong things. Clear eyes and mind, detective. Clear eyes and mind. Cancel the noise. See what’s in front of you, the truth, and act on it.”

“That sounds a lot like my job,” Preach said. “Do you know what I think the truth is ? That an extremely small percentage of ruthless, ambitious, sociopathic criminals always make life miserable for the rest of us.”

“You’re talking about the President, now?”

“I’m talking about you.”

“Tsk tsk. I thought we were having a pleasant walk. Why make it personal ? Trust me, you don’t want to make it personal.”

Preach stopped walking, and Bentley did too. Preach stepped closer and said, “Are you threatening me ?”

Bentley didn’t flinch. “You should walk away, Detective.”

“From what ?”

“From East Durham. From this. From me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have that choice.”

Bentley laughed. “Choice? We have a wasteland of choice.

That’s the defining nature of humanity, especially in your America. You don’t have to go to war on a daily basis, farm for food any more, cut your shelter out of the jungle. Your people don’t have to do anything but slave away to get shit you want, play video games, watch other people’s lives on TV. So just choose, detective. Choose to walk away.”

“What should I do, leave a manila envelope for you in my mailbox ?”

“You heard me.”

“One thing I learned as a prison chaplain. The true criminals of the world actually feel at home in prison, because they know they’re in the right place. They may not like it, but they know they’re home. I look forward to stamping your passport.”

“I believe our walk is over.”

“I didn’t come out here to warn you that I’m about to arrest you. You’re right, this isn’t my jurisdiction.”

“I trust you can find your way back? It gets dark out here rather fast. There’s not much artificial illumination to light the way.”

They had stopped walking at an intersection marked by a cheap, two-story housing complex that looked in danger of falling over. A host of rundown sedans and pickups were crammed into the parking lot, and a group of shifty-eyed men were drinking on the concrete balcony, eying the two men.

Preach leveled his gaze at Bentley. “The girl, Blue, you sent Cobra after.”

“I don’t know—”

“Shut up.” Bentley went rigid, as if no one had ever spoken to him like that before. Preach continued, “She was in the woods that night but didn’t see or hear a thing. You have my word on that. There was something on the camera, but it was too dark to make out. We used video enhancement software to build our case, and she knew absolutely nothing about it. Still doesn’t.”

“You telling me this to hear yourself talk?”

“I’m telling you this because no matter what happens to you and Cobra, if you or any of your people touch a single hair on her head, I swear to God I’ll spend the rest of my career making sure you’ll regret it. Trust me when I say it will be the worst decision you’ve ever made.” “That’s a noble sentiment, detective.”

“She’s innocent. Let her live her life.”

“What happens if you’re not around to protect her anymore ?” Preach backed away, very slowly, boring into him with his eyes. “Not one single hair.”