MARCUS GAVE IT as long as he could, then took a coffee and two aspirin upstairs and knocked on the guestroom door. Dale had risen during the night and managed to undress himself. The burly man peered up at him with the furrowed brow of one striving to keep the lid of his head from splitting open.
“I have to be going,” Marcus told him. He knew from experience the last thing Dale wanted was questions as to his well-being. “But first I need to ask you something. And you need to answer. So do whatever it takes to wake up.”
The man pushed himself to a seated position, swayed and almost went down the other way, then rose to his feet. When Marcus moved to offer support, Dale halted him with an upraised hand. He disappeared into the bathroom, returned, took the aspirin with a slug of coffee, sighed, drained the cup. He croaked, “Go where?”
“Church. You ready to listen?”
Unwilling to nod and risk dislodging his head, he made do with a wave. Go.
“Is there anybody else you can think of who might have a motive to make a run for your daughter?”
Dale’s head came up far too swiftly. He applied a palm to his temple to stop the world from swimming. “What?”
“Anybody who might be trying to get to you through your daughter,” Marcus repeated. “Think, man. This could be very important.” Or an utter waste of time. But there was nothing to be gained by expressing his doubts just then.
When Dale answered by staring at his empty mug, Marcus took it from him, went downstairs, and returned with another dose. “What about New Horizons?”
Dale drained half the mug before responding. “What’s the gain? They’ve already sunk my career.”
“Do you have other enemies who’d see this as a way to retaliate?”
“Not me.” He drained the mug. “But Erin does.”
“Of course.”
“Even so, stealing a child wouldn’t be their way. They’d go after what would hurt her the most. Her career.”
“Would they kill her?”
“Maybe. Opera’s like every other art form, too many talented people hunting too few spots. It breeds a special form of viciousness. Why are you asking?”
“You mean, other than the fact that I’ve got to clear you of a murder charge?” Marcus glanced at his watch. “I need to be rolling. You’re welcome to come along if you like.”
Dale gestured at the pile of grass-stained clothes he’d worn since the arrest. “Got something that’d fit me?”
The man outweighed him by forty pounds. “Sweats only,” Marcus replied. “But I seriously doubt anybody will mind.”
The day was quiet and drenched with eight o’clock sun. Dale endured the ride in stoic silence. When they pulled into the church parking lot and Dale remained where he was, Marcus wondered if he had made a mistake, bringing this broken man to a black country church. Then he realized Dale’s gaze rested upon the hillside, where the New Horizons headquarters glinted like a polarized tombstone to his own career.
“You okay with all this?”
“I was just thinking,” Dale said. “How hard it is to be so wrong about love.”
Marcus kept his engine running and the car cool. Now that they were here, he felt no urge to move inside. “Do something for me, will you? Think back to the last time you saw Erin. I mean, before New York.”
“When she took Celeste.”
“Tell me about that night.”
He understood the man’s desire to avoid the pain of inspecting a running sore. “Kirsten has the feeling maybe there’s an ulterior motive at work. Something we’ve missed up to now.”
Dale turned back to the front windshield. “Erin called and said she was over for another PBS special.”
“You mean, back in the States.”
“She wanted to come down and talk. How could I refuse her? She hadn’t seen her baby in months. We met for dinner. The worst in a long line of bad moves.”
“You did the only thing you could, Dale.”
“She played her charm card. Again. I let myself get taken in. Again.”
“What did you talk about?”
“The usual. Her career. Mine. She wanted to know about the burglary.”
“The what?”
“A couple of guys broke into the house. Didn’t I tell you about this?”
Something niggled at his mind, but Marcus could not bring the pieces together. “It was a week or so before she came down?”
“Five days, maybe six. I caught them in the act. Clocked them with a lamp. Made the papers.” He shrugged. No big deal in the grand scheme. “Erin and I had your normal catch-up kind of talk.”
“What happened after dinner?”
“She drove me home. Like usual when I’d been drinking.” He rubbed his face, pushing the glasses up to his forehead, revealing the white splotches on his temples and the weary creases and the eyes of one already convicted and condemned. “Another major mistake.”
“You passed out?”
“Apparently. I don’t remember. One minute I was on the sofa in the back room, the next I was in bed and the house was on fire.”
“Do you normally lose consciousness when you drink?”
“No. Not usually.”
“Ever?”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m just searching, Dale. Do you frequently pass out?”
“Not ever that I recall.”
“What about forgetting events?”
“You’re suggesting Erin drugged me?”
Marcus cut the motor and opened his door. “I don’t know, Dale. I wish I did.”
Outside the car the heat hung thick as fog. Dale wore an old pair of Marcus’ running shoes without socks, a golf shirt, and sweatpants that on Marcus sagged almost to his knees. The simple exertion of crossing the parking lot left Dale sweating so hard the back of his shirt was plastered to his skin. “Are you all right?”
Dale waited until they had stepped inside the air-conditioned coolness to reply, “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
Marcus did not have the heart to warn him of just how long a murder investigation and trial could require. He offered Dale his keys. “Go on home if you like, I’ll grab a ride with someone later.”
Dale accepted the keys but staggered toward the sanctuary. A pair of ushers stood by the doors. As soon as Marcus introduced him, the ushers were vying over which hand Dale would shake first. Others were called out from the sanctuary, where the choir and music director were busy warming up the crowd. People saw the gathering by the rear doors and moved close. Dale’s name was passed around. More smiles and hands extended toward the confused man.
When Marcus finally managed to pry him loose, Dale asked, “What was that all about?”
“A lot of families here live off New Horizons paychecks. I should have warned you.”
“But I’ve been fired.”
“They know what you tried to do in there. It means a lot.”
The music and the shouting and the applause did not seem to bother Dale nearly as much as the welcome. When the minister invited the congregation to offer one another Sabbath greetings, Dale shrank inside his own skin. People gave no sign of minding either his manner or his dress. They didn’t turn from him until the next chorus began.
Marcus noticed Omar Dell only after the service ended. The young man wore a collage of dark gray—gabardine suit, slightly darker shirt, finely patterned tie. He worked his way smoothly toward Marcus, doing the easy greetings of one known and liked by many. When he finally stood before Marcus he said, “I’d heard about you hanging with the home crowd.” He motioned to where Dale was trying his best to reach the outer doors. “But how come you didn’t take him someplace tamer, you know, so he could mellow with the vanillas for Jesus crew?”
“Now is not the time or the place, Omar.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Omar steered them over to the side aisle. “This is what you might call a very private heads-up.”
“Call my office tomorrow.”
“You just hold tight and listen. I’m doing this as a favor to a mutual friend.” He moved in closer still. “Yesterday evening, papers were filed by Health and Human Services, requesting an emergency hearing first thing Monday morning.”
“What about?”
“They aim on declaring Dale Steadman an unfit parent.”
Marcus backed against the wall, but was unable to find a handhold. “That’s insane.”
Omar grinned, satisfied with the impact of his news. “Makes you wonder, don’t it.”
“Dale doesn’t even have possession of the child.”
“Sounds to me like people in the know are trying for another of these end runs around you and your client.” Omar shifted so that he was right in Marcus’ line of sight. “Now you got to promise me, you come up with another headline, you call me first.”
Marcus pushed past the reporter. “I have to find Dale.”
Dale had thought getting outside would bring safety. But the heat formed a thunderous din in his head, worse even than the church’s echoes. He held to a steady gait across the parking lot, though it would have been more comfortable to fall to all fours and crawl. It was not the drinking that left him so devastated. Or at least, not that alone. The church’s welcome had been crippling, a smiling condemnation of everything he had failed to achieve at New Horizons. As if he needed another reminder.
His cell phone pinged as he was opening the passenger door. He had carried it with him constantly since the night. Another symbol of futile hope. Dale waited until he had started the engine and turned the a/c on full before answering. “What now?”
A heavily accented woman’s voice said, “I am calling for a mutual friend.”
The words were enough to push him into high gear. Forget the heat and the hangover and the gripping misery of compounded defeat. “What?”
“Someone connected to you by the one who is now gone.” She spoke with the dull rote of one reading from a page. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“This party, they now have the child.”
“Where are you?”
“Never mind. She is hidden. Make any move, take any action at all, and the child will never be found. Speak one word and all will be lost to you. The party says, they have nothing else to lose.”
“What do you want?”
“Five million dollars.”
“All right.”
“Five million dollars,” the woman repeated. “Or the child disappears.”
“I said I’d pay you.” Marcus appeared at the side door. Dale reached over and hammered down the door lock so hard he ripped the skin. He pressed his palm into the sweatpants to stem the blood. “What do you want me to do?”
“You will stay in North Carolina. They will have you watched. Believe me. They will know.”
Dale turned away from Marcus’ stare. “I understand.”
“The blond one. The troublemaker. You know who I mean?”
“Kirsten Stansted.”
“She will be the go-between.”
“Give me five days.”
“You have forty-eight hours.”
“I can’t get the money—”
The line was dead. Dale cupped the phone to his chest. Took three deep breaths. Then reached over and unlocked the door.
Marcus clambered inside. “What is going on here?”
“Something’s come up.” Dale struggled to bring his heart back under control. “I have to get back to Wilmington.”
“Did you hear about HHS?”
“What?”
“Health and Human Services. They’re lodging a complaint against you.” Marcus pointed at the phone. “Is that what this was all about?”
Marcus remained as he was. “It’s vital that you show up for the hearing with Judge Sears tomorrow morning.” When Dale did not respond, he asked again, “What’s going on?”
Dale could not bring himself to meet his attorney’s eye. “Maybe a miracle.”