Cleaning up the mess on the side of Coit Road took hours. It was late, going on ten p.m., when he and Detective Morales left the crash site.
He called Danielle, as he’d promised. She sounded both wound up and exhausted—matching his mood perfectly.
He asked to meet in the cafeteria. She hesitated but he was persistent. A man—probably her husband—spoke in the background, telling her he’d be in the room with Reid, that his parents were coming to pick up Kevin.
“If you feel comfortable with doing so, we can get one of the hospital sitters or an officer to stay in the room with your little boy so you can both hear what I got to tell you.”
Danielle’s swallow was thick and pressed against Hardesty’s eardrum. “I’ll think about it.”
Arlen then called Jim Kondren.
“It’s been all over the news, Arlen. Not the serial killer part—that’ll come out later, once it’s ascertained.” Jim huffed a breath. “You nailed the SOB. All these years . . . Jesus, you never forget a case like that one, huh?”
Jim had been there, one of the officers who’d come down to help with the search. He and Arlen worked their search quadrant and hit up a friendship, solidified by viewing Jonathan Foster’s body in that ditch.
“Never,” Arlen averred. “Thanks for the help on the stakeouts in Highland Park.”
“That’s related?”
“Yeah,” Arlen said. “We’re still collecting information, but yeah. It is.”
“As explosive as you thought it’d be?”
Arlen considered Hank’s involvement as he knew it to be. The fact that he’d been the face of AMEAC as well as its founder. “Prolly more so.”
“Well, shit.”
Arlen nodded, understanding the sageness of Jim’s words. “I’ll buy you a beer and we can talk it over. Once I got the whole story.”
“I’ll expect it,” Jim said. “Good work on this one, Chief. You never dropped the ball.”
Arlen disagreed but now wasn’t the time for long chats on how he should have done better. They rung off. Arlen called Irene again, let her know he wouldn’t be coming home just yet.
“I’m so glad you’re okay, Arlen. Lordy, the news . . . it’s scary. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Love you, Reenie.” Words that needed to be said. “If you wanna go to bed, I’ll sleep in the guest room.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Arlen Hardesty. You just cracked the case of your career—the one that’s haunted it anyway. You come on home when you’re ready and we’ll drink tea on the porch.”
“And cross off another day on the calendar,” Arlen said, the ghost of a smile perking up the corners of his lips.
“You betcha. Drive safe.”
Both Danielle and Garrett met Arlen and Detective Morales in the white and bright cafeteria that night. Danielle’s clothes were covered in dust, the knees of her jeans ripped. Garrett looked haunted, his curly hair standing on end and his eyes filled with shadows.
Arlen sighed, wishing he could have done more for them, sooner.
“Thanks for meeting with us,” Arlen rumbled. He gestured to Detective Morales, who looked crisp in her dark pantsuit, her thick black hair pulled back in a low ponytail. If he hadn’t seen her fire her weapon with such precision and steadiness just hours before, he’d worry she was too young for her position—and he would have been wrong. Cynthia Morales was an asset to her department and the city she worked for.
He was damn glad he got her on the phone.
“What can you tell us?” Danielle asked, wrapping her hands around her elbows and leaning against her husband for support. Their marriage would be tested before all the shit in the creek cleared away. He cleared his throat.
“Hank has a concussion and a broken arm. And I guess there were a lot of glass fragments to clean out of his hand and arm.”
Danielle looked startled but then she nodded. “Reid said Hank was the one who pulled him from the truck. That Hunter had a knife in his hand.” She shut her eyes, unable to continue the thought. She shivered, no doubt trying to shed what could have been.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s all true.”
“Leonard Framb is in custody as well, Mrs. Patterson,” Detective Morales said. “He’s currently in surgery in this hospital, under armed escort.”
Garrett turned pale, his lips leeching all color. “The doctor said Reid can leave in the morning. Will he be safe here?”
“Yes,” Detective Morales said with conviction. “I plan to stay on the pediatric floor housing your son, while I coordinate the Frisco PD’s response. I’ll touch base with you before I leave tonight and let you know the current situation. But . . .” She narrowed her eyes. “The suspect sustained multiple injuries. Lots of blood loss. I don’t think he’ll be conscious, let alone out of that bed before you can pack up and leave.”
Danielle swayed a little as she took in Morales’s words. “Will he be able to stand trial? Will he go to jail for kidnapping Reid?” She turned to face Arlen, those green eyes of hers almost identical replicas of Nancy’s when he’d looked into them the first time thirty years ago. “For Jonathan? For the other boys?”
“We’re going to do our best to make that happen,” Hardesty said. “I wanted to get you up to speed on this—let you know how we couldn’t have cracked the case without you talking to Trevor. He and I are going to sit down tomorrow, first thing.”
Arlen shook his head, anger and adrenaline still pumping through his veins. “Goddammit! The boys called him Hunter. We never knew. Your mama told me to talk to Trevor again. She damn well told me.”
Morales leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “We got him now, and we’ll do everything in our power to keep him locked away. To keep the communities safe.”
“You understand that the publicity may be severe,” Arlen said. “Because of your father’s involvement in the case—in his foundation. I’m worried for your family.” Arlen swept his hand to include Garrett.
Danielle swallowed hard. Garrett’s jaw was leaping—a sprinter’s mad dash as he tried to keep his emotions under control.
“What is Hank’s involvement?” Danielle asked.
“Well, right now, we know he’s the one who called 911 and told us where to go,” Detective Morales said. “We know he’s the one who rescued your son.”
Danielle and Garrett shared a long look, one that ended with Garrett clearing his throat and saying, “Okay. If you find out it’s more, we’d appreciate the heads-up.”
There’d be more to Hank’s part in this; Danielle and Garrett seemed to be bracing for the fall-out. Arlen hoped Garrett would continue to stick by Danielle when the media came a-calling. He glanced out the glass-plated doors into the quiet, calm hospital. Tonight, he’d done what he could, but tomorrow, next week? Danielle and Garrett would find a path forward. He met Danielle’s gaze and held it.
“Some kinds of justice need to be measured,” Arlen said. “I get that. Just ate me up that I couldn’t do more for y’all.”
“Thank you for not forgetting Jonathan. For not giving up on us with Reid tonight,” Danielle said as she gripped her husband’s hand. The words were slow, measured. Arlen understood that they needed to be said. For Garrett but for her, too. Maybe even Trevor—who desperately needed some type of closure for the friend he still mourned.
Hardesty nodded. “Never did understand why they added a mulligan in golf. Can’t get a do-over anywhere else in life.”