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Eight days after Caitlin McGregor’s interview, on a Saturday, John Marlin was having a cup of coffee in a booth at the Kountry Kitchen at ten in the morning. Just a little quiet time before he got back out there. There were some hunting camps he wanted to check. It was always nice to get back to his regular routine—at least for a while.
Things hadn’t concluded quite the way he’d hoped, but there were some bright spots.
Rodney Bauer was out of the hospital and healing just fine. The newspaper had run an article about him and his heroic behavior at the Blanco Dairy Queen. The girl who had called 911 and been grazed by a bullet had chosen to keep a low profile and had so far remained unnamed in the media.
Caitlin McGregor was doing well. Nicole had connected her with a therapist, but she didn’t seem to need it. For now, it didn’t appear that Caitlin would need to testify about anything, because the sheriff’s office hadn’t been able to build a case against Rory Grafmiller. They’d pulled some texts from his phone—including texts to and from Bryce Cauley—but none of them had anything to do with Albert Cortez or Anthony Carducci or Trevor Larkin. Rory’s mother, the attorney, was refusing all requests for an interview. So there was no solid evidence to implicate Rory in anything.
That left Albert. Where was he right now? Nobody knew. Marlin was okay with that. Technically, Albert was a free man and could go wherever he wanted. The manslaughter charges from Massachusetts nineteen years earlier had long since reached the statute of limitations, and down here, there was no probable cause to arrest him. He was a person of interest in the shooting of Joseph Barella, but whoever had done it, it was likely an act of self-defense.
What would happen to the zoo? So far, Tracy Lavelle and the rest of the employees, minus Rory Grafmiller, had been taking care of the animals, but something would need to be done for the long term. There would be nothing to stop Albert from selling the place, if he wanted to. The only thing Albert had to worry about was Anthony Carducci. That might never change.
Carducci, like Rory Grafmiller, was facing no charges. There was absolutely no evidence he had talked to Joseph Barella about anything, much less attempting a hit on Albert. Carducci was a savvy criminal and had played his cards just right, building a wall of deniability for himself.
Meanwhile, just outside the plate-glass windows of the restaurant, traffic was flowing on Highway 281 and the sun was shining.
Marlin was about to leave when Red O’Brien’s old Ford truck pulled into the lot and O’Brien stepped out. The front and rear glass still had not been repaired.
O’Brien came into the restaurant, looked around, spotted Marlin, and sat down across from him uninvited.
“You got a minute?” he asked.
“What’s up?” Marlin asked.
“I’ve been thinking about something.”
Marlin waited.
“Garrett came to see me before he left town,” Red said. “He had this ring he found on the side of the road somewhere, and he gave it to me—to cover fixing my truck, or not, if it was fake.”
Marlin was about to say that a lost item like that should’ve been reported to the police by Garrett when he’d first found it, and that O’Brien couldn’t just take possession of the ring and do whatever he wanted with it, but quite frankly, Marlin didn’t know if it was worth the battle.
“What kind of ring?” he asked.
“Diamond ring. Like an engagement ring. Just one big diamond. I took it to a jeweler in Austin and it turns out it isn’t fake. It’s real. And real valuable.”
“Oh, yeah?” Marlin said.
O’Brien leaned in close and kept his voice low. “The guy said it was worth seven thousand bucks—at a minimum. Maybe up to eight or nine.”
Now, however, Marlin would have to burst his bubble.
But before Marlin could say anything, O’Brien added, “Yeah, yeah, I know. I can’t just keep it. Obviously somebody lost it, or it got stolen, or something, and now we gotta look for the righteous owner. That’s why I’m talking to you. I’m hoping you can tell me what I need to do next.”
“Just take it over to the sheriff’s office and fill out a found-property form. Give as many details as you can. They’ll explain everything.”
“I have to leave it with them?”
“Yeah, you do.”
“But if they don’t find the owner, then it’s all mine, right?”
“That’s generally how it works. Some diamonds nowadays have tiny numbers etched on them, so they can be identified.”
“Yeah, the guy in Austin said this one didn’t have that.”
“Did Garrett say where he found it?”
“Nope. I don’t think he even remembers. Does that make it more likely I’d get it back?”
“I can’t make any promises either way,” Marlin said.
“Yeah, okay.”
Marlin couldn’t help but be curious. “If you get it back, what are you planning to do with it?” he asked.
“Well,” Red said, “Nothing right away. I’ll just hold on to it. Stick it in my safe. But then we’ll see after that. I been seeing Mandy for a while, so...well...I don’t know. Maybe I’ll give it to her someday.”
Marlin grinned at him. He had met Mandy and she was perfect for Red.
O’Brien looked a little alarmed and quickly said, “Don’t say nothin’ to nobody, okay?”
“Of course not,” Marlin said.
“I might not even do that,” O’Brien said. “I’m just thinking out loud.”
“I understand.”
“Hell, she might not even want it. You know how women are. Plus, she’s way outta my league.”
“I won’t argue about that,” Marlin said.
“Nice-looking lady, don’t you think?” O’Brien asked.
“She’s very pretty,” Marlin said.
“And that rack,” O’Brien said.
Marlin figured it was best to let that one go. “I hope it all works out for you,” he said.
“Appreciate it,” O’Brien said, sliding out from the booth. “You doin’ all right otherwise?”
Marlin knew what O’Brien was asking. How was Marlin doing since the shooting?
“I’m doing just fine,” Marlin said, “but thanks for asking. That means a lot.”
O’Brien nodded and said, “I’ll see ya later.”
Marlin drained the last of his coffee, then checked his phone and saw that he’d missed a call earlier. It came from an unknown number, but the caller had left a voicemail.
Marlin put the phone up to his ear and listened.
Hey, John Marlin. This is Albert Cortez. I figured I’d better let somebody know that I’m alive and well, and that somebody is you. Don’t you feel lucky? I also wanted to say thank you for saving my animals. I saw it on the news and you handled it great. I can’t tell you how happy I was to see that. I’m planning to deed the place over to Tracy. She’ll take good care of everything. But that’s not why I called...I want to tell you what happened the night Joseph Barella was killed, and what happened before that. I hope you’re comfortable, because this is going to take a few minutes...
