Authors: Michael Robotham
After checking the shutters and outside doors, Audie wraps his coat around his forearm and drives his elbow through a small square pane of glass above the doorknob. Reaching inside, he flips the latch and pushes the door open, telling Max to watch his step because of the broken glass. He makes him sit at the kitchen table and then moves quickly through the house, searching each room. The place feels musty and closed up. Sheets have been thrown over the sofas and the beds are stripped and covered in plastic.
Audie finds a magazine cradle with maps and old newspapers, which are three months out of date. There are family photographs on the mantelpiece and in some of the bedrooms. Father. Mother. Three children. Toddlers transformed into teenagers over the course of a decade or more.
He turns on the fridge and checks the cupboards for dried foodstuffs and non-perishables. Without turning on the light, he opens a single shutter on the seaward side of the house and looks across the Gulf at the oil platforms that could be cities floating in the air.
Max hasn’t said a word. Audie finds linen in storage trunks and lights the pilot light on the water heater.
‘It’s going to take a few hours to heat up,’ he says. ‘We might have to shower in the morning. There are some clothes in the wardrobe.’
‘They don’t belong to us.’
‘That’s true,’ says Audie. ‘But sometimes necessity requires the breaking of rules.’
‘Do I have to be tied up?’
Audie considers the question. Inside one of the bedrooms he had seen a tambourine on a shelf. He fetches it to the kitchen and tells Max to stand before taping the instrument between the teenager’s knees. He can’t move without making a jangling sound.
‘I want you to sit in that armchair. If I hear you moving, I’m going to tie up you hands
and
feet. Understand?’
Max nods.
‘Are you hungry?’ Audie asks.
‘No.’
‘Well, I’m going to fix something anyway. You can eat if you want to.’
He discovers a box of fusilli pasta in the pantry and dumps the contents into a saucepan of boiling water. Then he finds a can of tomatoes, some herbs, garlic powder and seasoning. Max watches him cooking.
Later they eat in silence at the kitchen table. The only sound is the occasional jangling of the tambourine and of forks scraping on plates.
‘I’m not a very good cook,’ says Audie. ‘I haven’t had much practice.’
Max pushes his plate to the centre of the table. He flicks his bangs from his eyes and looks at the scars that seem to be crosshatched on Audie’s forearms.
‘Did you get those in prison?’ he asks after another minute of silence.
Audie nods.
‘How?’
‘People get into disagreements.’
Max points to the back of Audie’s right hand where a scar runs from the base of his thumb to his wrist. ‘How did you get that one?’
‘A shank made from a melted toothbrush.’
‘And that one?’
‘Cut-throat razor.’
‘How did someone get a razor?’
‘One of the guards must have smuggled it in.’
‘Why would they do that?’
Audie looks at him sadly. ‘To kill me.’
Rinsing their plates in the sink, he glances out the window, studying the sky. ‘We might get a storm tonight, but if it clears up tomorrow, we could go fishing.’
Max doesn’t answer.
‘You know how to fish, don’t you?’
He shrugs.
‘What about hunting?’
‘My daddy took me once.’
‘Where?’
‘Up in the mountains.’
Audie thinks about Carl and the hunting trips they took as teenagers. Always nerveless on the trigger, Carl showed no emotion, not even a flicker, as he made the shot. Ducks, squirrels, white-tailed deer, doves, rabbits, geese – his face was always a mask, whereas everything that Audie killed would twitch with his nervousness and bleed with his anxiety.
‘Are you going to shoot me?’ asks Max.
‘What? No!’
‘Why am I here?’
‘I wanted us to be friends.’
‘Friends!’
‘Yeah.’
‘You’re fucking crazy!’
‘Don’t curse. We have a lot in common.’
Max scoffs dismissively.
‘Have you ever been to Las Vegas?’ asks Audie.
‘No.’
‘I once got married in Vegas. It was eleven years ago. I married the most beautiful woman…’ He pauses, recalling the moment with a wrinkled smile. ‘It was in one those chapels you read about.’
‘Like the Elvis Presley chapel?’
‘Not that one,’ says Audie. ‘It was called the Chapel of the Bells on Las Vegas Boulevard. They had an “I-Do Service” that cost $145 with music and a marriage certificate. We went shopping beforehand. I thought she wanted to buy a dress, but she was looking for a hardware store.’
‘Why?’
‘She bought two yards of soft woven rope. And she told me I had to find thirteen gold coins and give them to her. “They don’t have to be real gold,” she said. “They’re symbols.”’
‘Symbols of what?’ asks Max.
‘They were supposed to represent Jesus and his disciples,’ Audie replies. ‘And by giving her the coins, I was saying that I would look after her and her little boy.’
‘Boy? You didn’t mention any boy.’
‘I didn’t?’ Audie traces a scar on his forearm. ‘He was my best man. I let him hold the wedding ring.’
Max doesn’t reply, but for a brief instant Audie senses that the teenager might remember. The moment passes.
‘What was his name?’
‘Miguel – it’s the Spanish version of Michael.’
Again nothing.
‘During the ceremony, Belita tied the soft cord around my wrist and then her own. She said it signified our infinite bond because our fates were now tied to each other.’
‘Sounds pretty superstitious,’ says Max.
‘Yeah,’ says Audie, as the first distant flashes of lightning chase away the shadows. ‘I guess she was superstitious, but she didn’t believe that evil lay in things, only in people. A place could not be tainted, only a soul.’
Max yawns.
‘You should get some sleep,’ says Audie. ‘Big day tomorrow.’
‘What’s going to happen?’
‘I’m going to take you fishing.’
47
Police cruisers are parked in the driveway of the Valdez house and unmarked cars line both sides of the street. Detectives are going door to door and a forensic team has taken fingerprints and hair samples from Max’s bedroom.
Voices are raised in the kitchen. Accusations. Recriminations.
‘We don’t know it was Audie Palmer,’ says Desiree, trying to cool tempers.
‘Who else would it be?’ says Valdez.
‘He’s threatened us already,’ echoes Sandy, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
‘How did he threaten you?’
‘By turning up here, of course … and by talking to Max.’
Desiree nods and looks at Senogles, who is perched on a stool, stroking his chin, playing the wise man.
‘That doesn’t explain why he’d kidnap Max,’ says Desiree.
Sandy loses her temper. ‘Have you been listening? Ryan shot him. Ryan arrested him. Ryan got him locked away.’
‘OK, I understand that, but it still doesn’t make sense.’ Desiree tries another angle. ‘How old is Max?’
‘Just turned fifteen.’
‘Did you ever mention to Palmer that you had a son?’
Valdez shakes his head.
‘Did you have any contact or correspondence with Palmer after his conviction?’
‘No. What are you getting at?’
‘I’m trying to figure out why Palmer turned up here last Sunday. And if Max was the target, why not take him that first day? Why wait until now?’
Valdez blinks at her angrily. ‘The man is crazy! Brain-damaged!’
‘Not according to the psychiatrist who treated him in prison.’ Desiree tries to keep her voice calm and even. ‘What did he talk to Max about?’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘I’m trying to establish his motives.’
Valdez throws up his hands. ‘We should have had protection. You should have provided us with a safe house.’
Senogles answers. ‘I would have given you protection, Ryan, but you didn’t ask for it.’
‘So it’s my fault, Frank?’
‘You said you could look after things.’
The two eyeball each other. Desiree wonders when they started using first names; perhaps during the original investigation.
‘Max should never have gone to school,’ says Sandy, sobbing into her husband’s chest. ‘This is my fault. I should have listened to you.’
Valdez puts an arm around her. ‘It’s nobody’s fault. We’re going to get him back safe and sound.’ He glances at Senogles. ‘You tell her, Frank.’
‘We’re going to do our very best.’
Senogles stands and rubs his hands together. ‘OK, this is what we know. Sandy and Max’s cell phones were both transmitting for ten minutes after Max left the school. The last signal has been traced to Interstate 45, about sixteen miles north of Woodlands. We’re studying footage from the Interstate and the shopping mall to see if we can identify what vehicle Palmer is driving. Once we know that we can trace his movements on traffic cameras and narrow down the search area.’ He looks at Sandy. ‘We need a recent photograph of Max to give to the media. And we may also decide to hold a news conference. Would you be prepared to make a statement?’
Sandy looks at her husband.
‘It can generate more publicity,’ says Senogles. ‘The emotional plea for help from the family: please give our boy back … that sort of thing.’
Desiree adds, ‘Does Max have any medical conditions? Allergies?’
‘He’s asthmatic.’
‘Medication?’
‘He has some with him.’
‘Do you know his blood type?’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘It’s just a precaution,’ explains Desiree. ‘We brief paramedics and doctors so they’re prepared.’
Sandy lets out another sob and Valdez glowers at Senogles. ‘Get her out of here, Frank.’
Senogles motions Desiree to the sliding door, ushers her onto the patio. When they’re alone, he turns and gazes over the swimming pool, his face bathed in an alien blue glow from the submerged lights.
‘I think you’re treating these people like they’re guilty of something.’
‘I don’t agree.’
‘I also think you get moist for Audie Palmer. Am I right? Do murdering scumbags get your juices flowing, Special Agent?’
‘Who the hell are you to ask me that?’
‘Your goddamn boss is who I am, and I think it’s time you accepted that fact.’
Desiree is standing away from the light, her hair hanging against her cheeks, her eyes bright in the shadows.
‘Audie Palmer isn’t brain-damaged. He’s highly intelligent, almost off the scale. Why does he risk coming back here if he has all that money from the robbery at his disposal? Why risk kidnapping a sheriff’s son? None of it makes sense. Unless…’
‘Unless what?’
Desiree pauses and blows a puff of air past her nose, lifting a strand of hair on her forehead.
‘What if there was no fourth man? What if the police took the money?’
‘What?’
‘Hear me out.’
Senogles waits.
‘Imagine for a moment that Palmer and the gang hijacked the armoured truck but the police stumbled upon them before they could unload the cash. There was a high-speed chase, a shoot-out. The gang was dead. The money was there for the taking.’
‘What about Audie Palmer?’
‘He was part of the gang.’
‘He would have fingered them.’
‘They shot him. They didn’t expect him to live.’
‘But he did.’
‘Maybe that’s why he came back – he’s looking for his share.’
Senogles shakes his head, wiping his lips with his thumb and forefinger. ‘Even if what you’re saying were true – which it’s not – Palmer would have called his lawyer and tried to cut a deal.’
‘Maybe that’s exactly what he did – he got ten years when it could have been worse.’
‘Not the ten years he served. They were the toughest.’
Desiree tries to argue, but Senogles interrupts. ‘You’re talking about a conspiracy that involves police officers, the district attorney’s office, defence counsel, the coroner, maybe even the judge.’
‘Maybe not,’ says Desiree. ‘A file goes missing. Charges are changed.’
Lifting one foot, Senogles rubs the polished toe of his shoe against the back of his trouser leg.
‘Can you hear yourself?’ he asks, his voice shaking with anger. ‘Audie Palmer is a cold-blooded killer and you keep trying to make excuses for him. In case you’ve forgotten – he pleaded guilty. He admitted to the crime.’ Senogles clears his nose, hawking phlegm into the garden. ‘You think I’m tough on you, Agent Furness, and here’s why. I deal in facts and you deal in fantasies. Grow up. You’re not seven years old playing with your My Little Pony. This is real life. Now I want you to go inside and tell those good people that we’re going to do everything we can to get their son back.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I didn’t hear you.’
‘Yes, sir!’
48
The storm arrives in the early hours, sweeping across the Gulf and hurling rain and salt against the windows and sending a chill wind beneath the doors and through cracks in the floorboards. Lightning ripples behind distant clouds, framing them momentarily. As a kid, Audie used to love nights like this one, lying in bed, listening to the rain rattle against the windows and gurgle down the gutters. Now he sleeps on the floor because his body has grown accustomed to hard surfaces and thin blankets.
For a long while, he watches the boy sleeping, wondering where he goes in his dreams. Does he visit willing girls, or hit home runs, or score winning touchdowns?
Growing up, Audie was told he could be anything he wanted: a firefighter, policeman, astronaut, even the President … Aged nine he had wanted to be a fighter pilot, but not like Tom Cruise in
Top Gun
, which looked like a computer game rather than combat. Instead he wanted to be Baron Von Richthofen, the legendary German flying ace. He had a comic book about the Red Baron and one particular drawing stuck in his mind. It showed the Baron saluting a flaming Sopwith Camel as it plunged toward the earth. Instead of looking triumphant, he seemed to lament the loss of a brave opponent.
When Audie finally nods off, he dreams about the journey from Las Vegas to Texas, through Arizona and the mountains of southern New Mexico. They stopped at tourist spots along the way like the Children’s Museum in Phoenix, Montezuma Castle near Camp Verde and Carlsbad Caverns in the Guadalupe Mountains. They spent two nights at a guest ranch in New Mexico where they rode horses and rounded up cattle. Audie bought Miguel a cowboy hat and a toy six-shooter in a faux leather holster.