Back at HQ, in the evidence room, Veck went through everything there was of Kroner's collection, filing away in his mind snapshots of the objects. Unfortunately, there was nothing that he'd seen in the photographs at the Bartens' that matched any of the jewelry or other things.
Stepping back, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Shit."
"There's still more," the investigator said. Without looking away from what he was doing, the guy threw back the drape that covered all that had yet to be cataloged.
Veck took a drink from his cold coffee, went over, and leaned in at the hips. No touching, of course, so good thing it had all been laid out side by side. More jewelry ... more hair ties with strands of black and brown and pink stuck to -
His phone went off, and he pivoted away to answer it. "DelVecchio. Yeah, yup ... uh-huh ... yup, that's me... ."
It was Human Resources, verifying his information before they sent out his first paycheck. As he rushed through the questions, he thought, no offense, but he had better things to do.
When he was finally off with them, he turned back around to the tray. He'd been so sure that Sissy had been taken by Kroner. Fucking hell -
From out of the investigator's latexed grip, a gold glint flashed as whatever it was got put under the microscope.
It was an earring. A small, birdlike earring. Like a dove or a sparrow.
"Can I see that?" Veck said hoarsely.
But even without the closer look, he recognized what it was ... from the Bartens' bookcase, that close-up of Sissy when she'd been unaware she'd been photographed. She had been wearing an earring just like it.
Maybe she'd been wearing that exact one.
His phone rang again just as the investigator held up the piece of evidence.
When Veck glanced at the screen and saw it was Reilly, he immediately accepted the call. "You'll never believe this - I'm looking at Sissy Barten's earring."
"In the Kroner evidence." It was a statement, not a question.
Veck frowned. Her voice sounded all wrong. "Are you all right? What happened with Kroner?"
There was a brief pause. "I ..."
Veck stepped away from the investigator, going into a corner and turning his back to the guy. Dropping his voice, he said, "What happened."
"I think he killed her. Sissy. He ... killed her."
Veck's grip squeezed down on the phone. "What did he say."
"He identified her by the hair and the Hannaford."
"Did you bring any photographs of her? Can we get a positive - "
"He went into a seizure in the middle of the interview. I'm outside the ICU right now and they're working on him. No telling whether they'll pull him through or not."
"Did he say anything else - "
"The body's somewhere in the quarry. According to him."
"Let's go - "
"I've already called de la Cruz. He's going over there with Bails - "
"I'm leaving right now."
"Veck," she bit out. "This case is no longer missing persons. You and I are off of it."
"The hell we are - she's still mine until they find a body. Meet me there so you can suspend me if you want. Or even better, come to lend a hand."
There was a long, long pause. "You're putting me in a terrible position."
Regret made him grind his molars. "I seem to excel at that when it comes to you. But I have to do this - and I promise not to be a pain in the ass."
"You excel at that, too."
"Stipulated. Look, I can't pull out of this until I at least know what happened to her. I don't have to be all up in Kroner's face if we find something and I won't touch a goddamn thing, but I've got to do this."
Another interminable pause. Then: "All right. I'm on my way. But if de la Cruz shuts us out, we're not fighting him, clear?"
"Crystal." Veck sent up a prayer of thanks. But then ... "Did he say anything else? Kroner, that is?"
There was a rustling, like she was switching the phone from hand to hand. "He said he knew you."
"What."
"Kroner said he knew you."
"That's a fucking lie. I've never met him before in my life." When there was nothing from her, he cursed. "Reilly, I swear. I don't know the guy."
"I believe you."
"You don't sound like it." And for some reason, her opinion didn't just matter; it was dispositive. "I'll take a polygraph."
Her exhale sounded exhausted. "Maybe Kroner was just screwing with me. It's hard to know."
"What did he say exactly?"
"Something along the lines of 'like recognizes like.' "
Veck went dead cold. "I'm not Kroner."
"I know. Here, let me get to my car and start driving. The quarry's on the far edge of town, and we might as well get in on the ground floor if de la Cruz will let us. I'll see you in a half hour."
As he hung up, the investigator glanced over from the microscope. "Get what you need?"
"I think so. Let me know if you find anything on that earring? I have a feeling it's from my missing girl."
"No problem."
"Where's the 'quarry'?"
"Take the Northway south about twenty miles. I don't know the exact exit, but it's marked. You can't miss it, and there are signs that'll take you in."
"Thanks, man."
"It's a good place to hide things, if you know what I mean."
"I do. Unfortunately."
Five minutes later, Veck was on his bike and roaring off toward the interstate. No reason to call de la Cruz ahead of time. They'd just do the showdown face-to-face when he arrived.
The exit in question appeared fifteen minutes later and read, THOMAS GREENFIELD QUARRY. The signs were easy to follow, and no more than a couple miles later, he was turning off and following a small dirt road that had trees tight to its flanks. In the summer, they would no doubt form a romantic canopy; at the moment, they looked like skeleton arms clawing at one another.
He cut the speed back as he rounded a fat right-hander that gradually climbed higher and higher. Wind whipped around, cold and stark, and the clouds seemed to close in as if to choke the ground. He was beginning to think he was lost when he crested the rise, and there it was.
Quarry? More like the Grand fucking Canyon.
And members of the CPD as well as the Caldwell Fire Department had already gathered: Two search and rescue vehicles. A couple of squad cars. An unmarked that had to be de la Cruz. A K-9 unit.
Veck parked a ways away and made no bones about his approach as he came up to the huddle of men and women and dogs.
De la Cruz peeled off from the core and came toward him. The detective's permagrim expression didn't shift in the slightest. Then again, he couldn't be all that surprised, and the arrival was hardly happy news.
"Fancy meeting you here," de la Cruz muttered. But he put out his hand for a shake.
"This place is huge." Their palms met in a clap. "Betcha can use some help."
The quarry was easily a mile across and a half mile down - and more of a natural formation than anything left over from a mining operation. Three-quarters of its walls were solid drops, but the one to the south was a nasty-looking slope that was marked by boulders, scruffy brush ... and a lot of dark holes that had to be caves.
"So are you going to let me work?" Veck demanded.
"Where's your partner."
"On her way."
De la Cruz glanced back at the tight band of colleagues. "We'eeping a light crew on here because we don't want any attention. The press gets word of this, we're going to have a field day with the rubberneckers."
"So is that a yes?"
De la Cruz nailed him right in the eye. "You don't touch a goddamn thing, and you don't go out until Reilly's here."
"Fair enough, Detective."
"Come on - you might as well join in the planning stage."
Jim's old place was not all that old and not his, either.
He'd rented the garage and its second-story studio apartment from an ancient guy in a butler's suit after he'd first come to Caldwell, and when he'd pulled out about a week ago, he'd assumed it was for the last time: His former boss, Matthias the Fucker, had been breathing down his neck, and he'd been Boston-bound to fight the next battle with Devina.
But really, what went according to plan? Matthias was no longer in the picture, Jim had returned to Caldwell, and he and Adrian needed a secure place to stay.
Hello, old haunts, as it were ... And it was time to pray that the owner hadn't gone in to find the rent money and key that had been left behind.
Pulling his F-150 into the long drive that led to the place, he checked to make sure Adrian was still behind him on that Harley - and the guy was. Together, they passed the owner's vacant but perfectly maintained farmhouse and continued down the lane, cutting through a rolling meadow that had to be a good twenty acres in size. The garage was far back on the property and had probably been used to house farming equipment and mowers, with a caretaker living above. He'd gotten the impression when he'd leased it, however, that it had been empty for a while.
Stopping grill first at the big double doors, he got out, grabbed one of the drag handles and threw his weight into it, wondering whether the place would be -
The panel rumbled open on its tracks, revealing a perfectly clean cement floor and a raw beam ceiling more than tall enough to park a horse trailer in.
Jim got back behind the wheel and let the engine's idle take him inside. And Adrian was right on his ass, parking the Harley and yanking the door shut behind them. As the gray light of day was cut off, Jim killed the motor, sprung his door -
The clean, fresh scent of flowers invaded the air. To the point where he nearly retched, even though the smell was arguably beautiful.
He and Adrian didn't say a word as they took up res on either side of the truck bed by the back. The tarp they'd bought at Home Depot an hour ago was secured by a half dozen bungee cords, and one by one they freed the hooks and bands. Rolling up the thick, blue cover, they revealed the sheet-wrapped body they had been so careful with.
They had left the lobby of the bank not long after Jim's fury had busted out all the windows, and they'd taken Eddie with them - which had been no struggle, as it had turned out; at least not physically. After the death, the body was light as a feather, as if all the critical mass had vacated the skin and bones, and what was left behind was nothing more than the outline drawing of what Eddie had once been.
Jim had had no clue where to go, but then Dog had appeared in their path ... and led them to an abandoned three-story walk-up.
Leaving Adrian and the animal to guard their dead, Jimhad returned to the hotel, packed up all their shit and loaded it into his truck. When he'd returned, he'd parked in an underground garage a couple blocks away, and flashed over with all sorts of plans to move to greater safety and collect the other vehicles and bikes that were still in the lot at the Marriott.
In the end, though, he'd just sat around, and given Adrian a break - because the guy had looked as if he were about to shatter.
Eventually, they'd had to relocate, however, and he'd decided that coming here was their best bet in the immediate short term. And Adrian had gone along without comment, except that was probably not a good sign - he was clearly still numbed out, but that wasn't going to last, and what was on the other side? Biblical wasn't going to cover the half of it, most likely.
Jim unlatched the back gate and let it fall. "Do you want to - "
Adrian sprang up and over the gunnels, landing deftly next to Eddie. Scooping up the shrouded remains, he stepped off the bed, and walked over to the side door. "Can you get this for us?"
"Yeah, sure."
With Dog leading the way again, Jim went over and opened the exit and then all three of them went up the exterior stairs. At the top, he used a lock pick, worked the doorknob in a matter of seconds, and stood to the side as Adrian went in.
The single bed was just the way it had been when Jim had left, the sheets tangled from the last bad night's sleep he'd had there. And yup, the money and the key were right where he'd put them on the counter of the galley kitchen. Sofa was still under the picture window, with the thin drapes pulled closed. Air smelled vaguely of hay, but that wasn't going to last.
Not with Eddie around.
As Jim looked over at Adrian, he knew there was no reason not to use this place. Matthias was in Devina's well of souls for eternity so it wasn't like he was any threat, and the rest of XOps was going to be busy scrambling to fill the leadership void the guy had left behind. Besides, Jim's only problem had been with his old boss.
Who he'd let down in the last round.
"There's a crawl space back here," Jim said, walking over to the kitchen.
Next to the refrigerator, there was a narrow half door that led into a shallow, Sheetrocked area under the eaves of the roof. Reaching in, he turned on the bald lightbulb and got out of the way.
As Adrian crouched down and went inside with his burden, Jim opened one of the drawers under the kitchen counter and took out a long knife.
He didn't hesitate as he put the blade against his palm and streaked it through his skin.
"Fuck," he hissed.
Adrian backed out of the crawl space. "What are you doing?"
Bright red, shimmering drops fell to the floor in a little trail as he walked over to where Eddie had been placed. The truth was, he wasn't entirely sure what was going on here, but his instincts were guiding him, pulling him forward, and putting his bleeding palm against the inside of the half door ... as well as on the body itself.
Before he retracted his dripping hand, he vowed, "I don't leave fallen soldiers behind. You're going to be with us - until you come back to us. Bet your ass on it."
Stting the door, he looked over at Adrian, who had backed up against the counter and braced himself. The angel was staring at the linoleum like it was tea leaves ... or a map ... or a mirror ... or maybe nothing at all.
Who the fuck knew.
"I need to know where you're at," Jim said. "You want to stay here with him or do you want to keep fighting?"
Vacant eyes rose from the floor. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. He would have handled this better."
"Ain't no good way of dealing with it. And I'm not going to twist your arm about anything. You want to do nothing but mourn, that's perfectly fine with me. But I have to know what you're up for."
Shit, it was probably too early to ask the guy to think about what he wanted for lunch, much less whether he was tight to fight. But they didn't have the luxury to go all therapisty, explore-your-feelings. This was war.
When Adrian just mumbled something about how "not right" it all was, Jim knew he had to get the guy's attention.
"Listen to me," he said slowly and clearly, "Devina did this on purpose. She took him from you because she's depending on the loss incapacitating you. It's Strategy One-oh-one - isolation. Me from the two of you ... you from the world. It's your choice whether it works or not."
Adrian shifted his stare over to the door Jim had shut. "How can something so ... huge happen so fast?"
Jim went back in his own past, to a kitchen he had known so well, to a bloody scene he had never forgotten: his mother dying in a pool of her own blood, as she had told him to run as fast as he could, as far as he could ...
He totally got the whiplash Adrian was dealing with, the horrible realization that the pylons you'd depended on to keep your sky from falling had turned out to be made of paper instead of rock.
"Bombs happen."
There was a period of silence, and then a soft ticking sound over the floor. Dog, who had mostly stayed out of the way, was limping over to Adrian, and when he got to the guy, he sat on the angel's combat boot, and lay his head against the angel's shin.
"I'm not mad," Adrian said finally. "I'm not ... anything."
That was going to change, Jim thought. The question was when.
"Stay here with him," Jim said. "I've got to go out into the field. I don't want DelVecchio on his own."
"Yeah ... yeah." Adrian bent down and picked up Dog. "Yeah."
The angel walked over and sat on the couch, putting the animal on his lap and keeping his eyes locked on the crawl space's door.
"Call me," Jim said, "and I'll be here in an instant."
"Yeah."
God, Ad was like an inanimate object that breathed. And Jim's last thought was, Devina was playing with fire. Adrian was going to wake up from this stupor ... and then there was going to be hell to pay.
After closing the door, Jim paused to light up a cigarette and look at the sky. Clouds were boiling up over the garage, and he found himself looking for an image or a sign in them.
None came.
He finished his Marlboro, and just as he was about to take off, he heard a radio inside the apartment get turned on.
A cappella. Bon Jovi's "Blaze of Glory."
How appropriate.
Jim took to the air, following the beacon that was DelVecchio. And he was about halfway to his target when he realized ...
He didn't own a radio.
