“The way I see it, we’ve got a few possibilities,” Mason told Rengo.
They’d holed up back at Rengo’s compound, though for how much longer, Mason couldn’t be sure. He’d seen the state police contingent on his venture into town to find Charlene Todd, and now that Charlene was dead, Mason couldn’t imagine there were many folks left in Makah or the neighboring counties who weren’t aware of what was happening—or, for that matter, of his association with one Christopher Rengo.
Mason knew the state police, sooner or later, were going to find their way up the spur line that led into the compound. And if Mason was here when they did, there was no way either man was leaving in anything other than handcuffs or body bags.
It didn’t sit right with Mason, not at all, being in opposition to the law once again. He’d imagined those days had passed along with his prison term, that he would live out his life as a model kind of citizen, a man who played by the rules and stayed within the lines.
Even when he’d fought against Kirby Harwood, he’d done it because the lawman was corrupt and he’d known he and Jess were right.
Now, though, Mason knew that the men who searched for him believed they were doing good, believed he’d killed Brock Boyd and it was their duty to catch him. He had no issue with these men beyond that they aimed to imprison him, and he wished, fervently, to avoid confrontation.
He’d wondered, again, if he might not be better off turning himself in, putting his faith in the law and avoiding the possibility of further violence. But Mason knew he couldn’t do it.
If he wanted his name cleared, he would have to do it himself. And he would have to do it in a way that ensured no more innocent people were hurt.
Rengo drank from a fifth of Wild Turkey. He was trying not to look scared, Mason could tell, but the kid was all of twenty, twenty-two, and if he didn’t show his face soon, he’d be a wanted man, the same as Mason was.
“So out with it,” Rengo said. “What are we looking at here?”
Mason replied, “First thing, you go on down the hill and turn yourself in to the state troopers. Tell them you haven’t seen me, and you don’t know where I’d run to.”
“And what are you doing while I’m giving myself up?” Rengo asked.
“Charlene Todd,” he told Rengo. “That’s the first thread I could pull. She lied to that sheriff, and someone put her up to it.”
“And then someone killed her for doing it,” Rengo said.
“It sure seems that way. I chase down who was leaning on Charlene, I maybe find my way to whoever’s trying to frame me.”
“And then we’d likely know who killed Boyd. What’s the other option?”
“The other option is Boyd himself,” Mason said. “Start at the beginning. Jess said there was a woman he was with, sometime before he died. So far, they haven’t been able to find her.”
“And you think we can? If the law—”
“The law’s thinking I did it,” Mason said. “They’re not looking too hard at the alternate possibilities.”
Rengo drank again from his bottle, and was silent, and Mason knew the kid wasn’t fully on board with the idea.
Hasn’t exactly worked out so far, he thought, you tracking down witnesses and trying to find answers.
“Look,” Mason said. “Someone killed Brock Boyd, and they had a reason for doing so. I’m not saying I need to find this woman, necessarily. But I would like to know a little more about Boyd, preferably a good reason or two why somebody would kill him. That’s all I’m saying.”
Rengo set down his bottle. Stood, and on unsteady legs he walked to the door of his trailer and looked out across the litter-strewn compound to the forest beyond. “You keep saying ‘I,’” he said. “Like I don’t have a part in this too.”
“We talked about your part,” Mason told him. “You go on down to Deception and disavow all knowledge of my whereabouts to the sheriff. Find somewhere else to sleep for a while.”
Rengo looked out the door and didn’t respond. Mason could see how he gripped the frame of the door, gripped it tight, like he was trying to pull it free from the trailer. “It don’t work,” the kid said finally.
“What’s that?”
“What you’re saying. The plan. Me turning myself in.” Rengo turned back to Mason, impatient. “It just don’t work.”
Mason frowned. “Why not?”
“Because, Burke, you’re a wanted man, and everyone knows it. And you ain’t been in Makah long enough to know your way around here without getting caught. You think you can track down Charlene Todd’s people without the whole damn county getting wise?”
Mason said nothing.
“Secondly, you know jack shit about Bad Boyd,” Rengo said. “What, you’re going to march into the library and look him up on Wikipedia? You ain’t from around here, Burke. You want to stay here and solve this, you’re going to need someone who knows Deception.”
Mason stared at Rengo for a beat, and Rengo stared back, holding his gaze, courage drawn from the bottle or maybe something more fundamental.
“I’m not dragging you into this with me,” Mason said. “People are dying, and it isn’t your fight.”
Rengo didn’t reply right away. When he did, his voice was lower, and his eyes weren’t meeting Burke’s anymore. “You stuck up for me,” he said. “This construction thing? You could have left me alone up here in the woods.”
He paused.
“I don’t have any friends either, Burke,” he said. “You’re it. And how I was raised, you don’t let your friends handle the tough shit alone.”
Mason said nothing. Neither did Rengo. The wind rustled the trees outside the trailer and blew the clouds past overhead.
“Goddamn it,” Mason said finally. “Just don’t get yourself killed on my account, understand?”