37

DYLAN

My lungs lock when I see the emails that have come in from Casey. I take a second to breathe, then as I study each of the pictures she’s sent, I realize that she’s in Dallas, only three hours from here. When I see how close she got to Keegan, I get a little sick. The most recent email she sent was the one that contained the airplane pictures, sent last night, and I write her back to tell her that I have the tail number of the plane because I’ve seen Keegan in it before. I tell her to back off, that she’s putting herself at too much risk. I tell her to let me take it from here.

As I pack a bag to go to Dallas, hoping to see a return email pop up, my phone rings and I see that it’s Dex.

I click it on. “Hey, man.”

“Pretty Boy, you’re not gonna believe this.” His voice is low, but behind him I hear Tim McGraw singing “Live Like You Were Dying” over the noise of a crowd. “I lost Keegan, so I wound up tailing Rollins, and he’s in Marshall, drunk in a bar.”

“Marshall, Texas?” I ask. “Who’s he with?”

“By his lonely. Want me to make friends?”

“No, you’d be too recognizable if he sees you after this.”

“Because I only have one leg and one arm? That’s discrimination, dude. I might sue.”

“It’s reality. Just wait for me. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.

I was just about to head to Dallas. Can you hang and watch his car until I get there, in case he leaves? Maybe if I talk to him while he’s drunk, I can get him to spill something.”

“Will do. He might gush. Looks to be in a good mood.”

I grab my bag and head out to my car. Marshall is forty-two miles from Shreveport. Rollins probably went there to drink so nobody he knows would be there to see him. If Keegan’s in Dallas, maybe it’s a case of the cat being away.

I drive faster than I should and get to the bar half an hour later. I find Dex in his car, and he tells me where Rollins is sitting at the bar. Dex leaves, and I go into the bar and sit on the opposite side, pretending I don’t know he’s there. I order a Coke with ice and see him at the bar, nursing his drink as he sings to the song playing. When I get my drink, I take my glass and go to the bar stool next to him.

“Detective? I thought that was you.”

Rollins looks at me, and it takes a minute for him to focus. He groans when he sees me. “Man, I can’t go anywhere.”

“Hey, dude, enjoy yourself. I just stopped in for a drink. What you do in your off time is none of my business, right?”

“Right,” he says, and bottoms his glass, then slides it across the counter for a refill. “Anyway, you’re a chick magnet. Can’t hurt to be seen with you.”

I grin and glance around like I’m looking for some of those chicks. “So where’s Keegan? I thought you two were joined at the hip. You guys both off this weekend?”

“He’s out of town,” he says. “I’m not really off. I’ve been working the”—he burps—“Cox case.”

“Yeah? Learned anything new?”

“No, but I could ask you the same. You here on the case?”

“I was heading for Tyler, just stopped off on the way. I was going to talk to a relative of hers who lives there. A distant cousin, but it’s worth a try.”

He shrugs. “We tracked down all the relatives.”

“Still . . . Got to earn my money, right?”

“Right.” He leans toward me, almost falls off his stool. “Hey, how much are the Paces paying you? That guy’s rolling in money.”

I hide behind my glass and take a sip. “I’d rather not say. It’s enough to pay my rent.”

“But how much? Seriously, I bet he’s paying you more than I make.”

“He’s not.”

“But sometimes I think maybe I should go private, you know? Get out of all this. Get away from Keegan, with all his ideas and demands.”

“Ideas? What kind of ideas?”

He gets quiet then as the barmaid brings back his glass. He swigs the whiskey and belches again.

I try again. “What kind of ideas are you talking about?”

He waves a hand at me. “Nothin’, man. Just, do this, do that. Don’t do this, don’t do that.”

I know I can’t press harder, so I just wait, hoping he’ll go on, but he sees a girl walk by, and he grabs her arm and pulls her toward him. She isn’t flattered and jerks away.

He turns back to the bar, brooding, and curses her.

After a few minutes, he pulls out his wallet, drops a ten on the bar, then changes his mind and leaves a twenty. “I gotta go,” he says.

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Work to do.” He gets up and steadies himself, then pats me on the back. “Later, man.”

“You sure you want to drive? You’ve had a little much.”

“I’m fine,” he says. “Don’t be like him.”

“Like who?”

“Gordon. Like he’s my ol’ man or somethin’.”

I look back at the counter, but I can’t tell how many he’s had. There’s only the one glass. He may have been three sheets already when he got here.

He staggers out and, when the door closes, I follow him. He’s already in his car, pulling out of the parking lot. As he drives away, I pray that he won’t kill anybody.

It’s an hour later, and I’m driving through Tyler on my way to Dallas when my phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize. I pick it up. “Hello?”

“Dylan, it’s me. Sy.”

I frown. This isn’t the number I have programmed into my phone for Rollins. “Yeah, what’s going on?”

“I was arrested.”

“What?”

“DUI. It’s not good. I need you to bail me out tonight.”

I look at my watch, then I turn at the next exit, cross under the interstate, and head back the other direction. “All right,” I say. “I’m in Tyler, but I’ll be there in about an hour.”

“Look, don’t tell Keegan or the chief or anybody. Got it?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Hurry.”

It occurs to me that I should leave him there to rot in jail, but I know he’ll find some way to be out by tomorrow. Maybe I can take advantage of his vulnerability.

An hour later I show up at the Marshall Police Department and find the bail bondsman who’s waiting for me. I pay the 10 percent of Rollins’s bond and wait until they release him. After a while, he comes out, clearly still drunk.

“Thanks,” he grumbles.

“Where’s your car?”

“Where they stopped me. It was at that grocery store . . . what’s its name . . . I don’t know, Kroger, maybe.”

I walk him out to my car, and he heads to the driver’s side, forgetting it’s my car. “Do you think you should be driving?”

“I’ll be all right,” he says.

“But you weren’t. And it’s my car. Let me drive, okay?”

He acquiesces and goes around to the passenger side. We get to the grocery store that I figure would have been on his way home, and I pull in behind his car. “Look, there’s a motel over there. Why don’t you get a room and just sleep it off? Drive back tomorrow? Nobody’ll know.”

He considers that, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

I don’t wait for consent. I drive over there and stop at the office. He doesn’t get out.

“You know,” I say, “you have the same rank as Keegan. You don’t have to let him call all the shots.”

“You’re right about that.”

I’m thinking how to say that he should out Keegan for anything he’s doing, but Rollins speaks first.

“You know, he doesn’t trust you. He’s sure you’re a turncoat, that you’re trying to help Casey. But I think you’re okay.”

My mouth goes dry. “Keegan thinks that?”

“Yeah, he’s paranoid. Don’t worry about it.” He gets out of the car and staggers inside.

I watch as he goes to the motel desk. After a moment, I drive away.

So Keegan is on to me.

I’ve suspected this, but now that I know for sure, it changes everything.