The Innocent: The New Ryan Lock Novel (27 page)

Once she had crossed certain lines, she had known that there was no return. You either upheld the law or you didn’t. She had chosen to break it. There was no grieving about that now. What was done was done. There was no going back. Not now.

‘It’s all set,’ she said to Daniel. ‘Just like you wanted.’

He nodded. There was a hint of a smile. He had that faraway look he got sometimes when he was happy. She recognized it from when he was little. He’d be sitting outside on a sunny day, playing on the front lawn, and he’d have that same look, like he knew a beautiful secret about the world that no one else did.

‘They all stayed silent, sis,’ he said. He ran a hand through his hair, sweeping it back from his face. He’d grown it long since he came out of the army.

‘I know they did,’ she said. She walked to the window. Part of her knew what she was helping him do was wrong. That it would solve nothing. That it would only make matters worse. And yet …

The man with the sign had changed things. She and Daniel had seen him in the newspapers. It was during the Penn State scandal. He was an alumnus. When Penn State had decided that someone having used their campus to rape kids was no reason to stop their precious football games, that man had driven to Happy Valley with his sign and held it silently in protest. People – young, old, men and women – had cussed him out and spat at him. Someone had thrown beer over him. Most of the crowd, well, they’d just ignored him and walked in to watch the football game. His sign had read: ‘Put abused kids first. Don’t be fooled, they all knew.’

Daniel had talked about that man a lot. He’d said that such things would keep going on unless people understood that silence came with a price. As soon as he’d said it, she knew he was right. Silence wasn’t neutral. It was an endorsement. So was inaction. If you saw someone drowning in a river and walked by, that didn’t make you a casual observer: it made you the asshole who had let them drown.

They would all tag along to the stadium tonight, the college kids and the people of Harrisburg. They would hold hands, sing songs and nothing would change.

Laird wanted a PR exercise. Well, her brother was going to give him a lesson in PR. One that no one here, or in the rest of the world, would ever forget.

Lock stood for a moment in the half-light of the empty bedroom. The bed was still unmade. Underwear and clothes were strewn over the floor. The apartment was best described as utilitarian. There was everything someone would need to live comfortably but there were no homely touches: no flowers, no plants, no evidence of any pets.

He tensed a little as he heard the front door open and someone walk in. He moved quickly to the bedroom door, and peeked through into the corridor. He pulled his SIG from his holster, and held it by his side. Quietly, he opened the door and slipped out into the corridor.

Kelly Svenson was in the kitchen. He watched as she took off her jacket and slung it across the back of a chair. She walked toward the refrigerator. He raised his gun, and waited until she opened the fridge.

‘Take it easy,’ he told her.

She twitched. The movement was more shudder than jump.

‘Keep your hands in plain sight,’ said Lock. ‘Raise them up, and turn around.’

Her face gave nothing away as she stared at him. She raised her hands. He walked over to where she was standing, his SIG still punched out in front of him, his finger on the trigger, ready to squeeze off a shot if he had to. He was hoping she wouldn’t do anything stupid. He didn’t want to kill her. He didn’t want to kill anyone. There had been more than enough killing in Harrisburg.

‘Becker send you?’ she asked, as he plucked her service weapon from her hip and made it safe.

He had a good idea whom she was referring to, but he would see where her assumption took them. It would be good to get confirmation of what he already suspected. ‘Becker’s dead,’ he said.

She smiled, but it was forced. Her mouth turned up at the corners but her eyes were dead. ‘Governor Becker.’

Lock stepped back and lowered his gun. ‘I try not to work for politicians. Tends to interfere with getting a good night’s sleep. I’m here because of what happened to Malik Shaw’s family. My partner grew up with him.’

Nothing from her. In another life she would have made one hell of an actress. She betrayed nothing that she hadn’t already decided to show. ‘Then,’ she said, ‘why do you have a problem with me? I wasn’t involved in that.’

‘You knew about it,’ said Lock.

‘After the fact. Tromso was a scumbag, along with the rest of them, but even I didn’t think he and Reeves would go that far. You know about Reeves, right? I mean, you wouldn’t be here otherwise.’

Lock nodded. ‘Where’s your brother? Where’s Daniel? And don’t lie to me. I know he’s here, just like I know that he’s a very dangerous man.’

That finally got a reaction from her. A bitter laugh. ‘Dangerous? Y’think? He’s what they made him.’

Lock said, ‘I’m sorry about that. I truly am. Just like I’m sorry Malik Shaw had to pay the price he did for trying to do what was right.’

‘One honest man among thousands, and he was an outsider.’

Lock advanced on her. ‘This is over, Kelly. Now, tell me where Daniel is before more innocent people get hurt.’

‘So everyone can lawyer up and walk away and my brother can go to prison? No, thanks. I’ve seen how the law operates around here. There’s one rule for the likes of the Becker family and another for everyone else.’ She took a step toward him. He moved back. ‘He was a kid. Do you want me to tell you what those animals did to him?’

‘I think you should tell everyone so that there’s less chance it can happen again,’ said Lock. ‘But first I’m going to need you to tell me how to find that brother of yours.’

‘Go to Hell.’ She flew at him. Lock didn’t raise his weapon. She was unarmed, forty pounds lighter, and five inches shorter. If he couldn’t handle her, he’d be as well to retire. He didn’t like the idea of hitting a woman much either, but it beat shooting one.

As she got within a foot of him, he pivoted hard and brought up his elbow, striking her hard on the jaw. She tumbled backwards and fell against a wooden chair. He went to pull her up. She kicked out hard, catching his shin. He lost balance for a fraction of a second. It was enough. She half crawled, half ran past him.

Lock went after her. She was headed for the bedroom. He eased back a little, letting her push through the bedroom door. He already knew what she was going for.

He stood in the doorway as she ripped open the bedside cabinet, pulled out a gun and leveled it at him. Lock stared at her. He reached into the pocket of his jacket. He withdrew his hand, and opened his palm to reveal a half-dozen bullets. ‘Games are over, Kelly. You’re going to tell me where I can find him.’

‘And if I don’t?’

Lock palmed the bullets from her bedside gun back into his pocket and came out with his cell phone. He held it up so she could see the screen. ‘Then I have the FBI on speed dial.’

‘And if I help you?’ she asked.

Her asking the question was a good sign. But whatever he said now had to be credible. ‘You can have a head start getting out of here. Best I can do.’

‘And Daniel?’

Lock said nothing.

‘Your friend Tyrone would be dead by now if it wasn’t for my brother,’ said Kelly.

That made sense to Lock. From what Ty had said, Reeves and Tromso had been picked off. But, then, so had a bunch of other people whose only crime was … what? Hell, the kid from the frat had been out looking for Jack Barnes. What had he done to deserve being shot?

‘Your brother needs help,’ said Lock.

‘And you think he’s going to get that in prison?’

‘He’s going to hurt more people, Kelly. We both know it.’

Ty killed the call from Lock, and spun the wheel of the SUV hard as he pulled a U-turn. Next to him, Malik stirred. Exhaustion had taken him down hours ago.

‘We there?’ Malik asked. His eyes were flecked with red. He rubbed at his temples. ‘My head is killing me.’

Ty plucked a bottle of water from one of the cup holders and tossed it to him. He caught it one-handed. ‘Taking a detour,’ said Ty. ‘You ever hear of a guy called Daniel Svenson?’

Malik shook his head. ‘The surname, yeah, place is full of Svensons, but a Daniel Svenson? No.’

‘His sister’s the cop. Daniel’s her brother. He was one of Becker’s victims way back when. And we need to find him.’

Malik unscrewed the cap of the water bottle. ‘They’re going after him?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Ty.

Twelve minutes later, Ty turned off the small country road they had been driving down for the past mile and onto a dirt track with ditches at either side. They headed for a stand of trees, and drove through an open farm gate. A mutt greeted their arrival, chasing alongside and barking.

Ty scanned the low ranch house ahead. He looked for movement – the twitch of a curtain, a door opening. He was starting to think that maybe he should have dropped Malik off before now and let him hitch-hike back into town, but time wasn’t on their side, and he still didn’t fully trust Malik not to do something stupid.

He stopped twenty yards short of the front porch and parked their vehicle side-on. He started to get out. ‘Give me five minutes. If I’m not back by then, get out of here.’ He dug into his pocket. ‘Here. Call Ryan when you get a safe distance away. His number’s the first on the list.’

‘The hell I will,’ Malik said, reaching for the door handle. ‘I’m coming with you.’

‘No, you ain’t.’

‘Hey,’ said Malik, ‘from what you’ve been told, this guy’s pissed at people here for looking the other way. Well, I didn’t. And look what it cost me. He’ll talk to me.’

‘And if he won’t?’ asked Ty.

‘I’m not scared of dying,’ said Malik. ‘You?’

Ty thought about it. ‘Hell, yeah.’

Together they exited the vehicle and walked toward the house. Lock had given Ty only the briefest run-down of Daniel’s military background. That had been enough. If he was still here, and he wasn’t in the mood, they were both likely dead already.

Malik stepped ahead of Ty. His right foot was an inch shy of the bottom step leading up to the porch when Ty grabbed him and pulled him back. Malik stumbled. Ty held up a hand to silence his friend. He bent down and examined the fishing line that been strung across the step. It disappeared into some bushes.

Ty slowly parted the leaves of the undergrowth. He glanced back at Malik. His friend’s eyes widened as they checked out the green chunk of metal shaped like a butterfly’s wing that was rigged to the fishing line.

‘What the hell is that?’ Malik asked.

‘Something that will most definitely ruin your day,’ Ty told him. More specifically, it was a Russian-manufactured anti-personnel mine. The rigging was crude. It would have taken moments for someone who knew what they were doing to disarm it. But it could do one hell of a lot of damage. The butterfly mine also told Ty that Daniel wasn’t home, and that there were plenty more nasty surprises where that one had come from. People tended not to land-mine their front porch. Neither did they rig boobytrap windows – as the two small piles of sawdust on the nearest ledge where someone had drilled into the frame tended to suggest. Ty was just grateful that Daniel hadn’t mined the driveway. He turned back to their vehicle.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said to Malik. ‘And watch where you’re putting your feet.’

Five thousand tiny lights flickered along Wolf Road as the people of Harrisburg walked in silence toward the stadium. Parents pushed babies in strollers, elderly couples walked arm in arm, but mostly the crowd was made up of college students, their youthfully earnest faces lit from underneath by the battery-powered candles they held. Heads down, their breath misting in the freezing night air, Malik’s team of college basketball players held pictures of their coach’s dead family as they led the athletic department toward the stadium.

At the head of the parade, Allan Laird walked arm in arm with his wife. In his free hand, he carried a wreath. It would be laid in remembrance of those who had died. Behind him came the great and good of the college administration staff, along with the college chaplain and the leaders of the three main churches in Harrisburg.

Beyond the candlelight parade, the town was bathed in darkness. As a mark of respect for the victims, it had been agreed that the street-lights would be turned on at the conclusion of the remembrance ceremony. Until then only a few homes in every street had their lights on.

In the stadium parking lot, a half-dozen satellite trucks were parked up. A couple of reporters gave breathless updates to camera. Institutional corruption, college sport, a presidential hopeful and a mounting body count, not to mention the sleaziest of sexual overtones, had ensured national and international interest. Movie studios and publishers were already circling, ever ready to translate unimaginable human misery into dollars. No detail would prove too debased, no moment too salacious, that they wouldn’t pore over it in ghoulish detail.

Daniel Svenson looked down at the people directly beneath him from the metal walkway that ran around the edge of the stadium’s roof. He smirked at the crowd’s forced solemnity, the furrowed brows and glistening eyes as, one by one, they trickled into the stadium and began to take their seats. In the distance a minor cavalcade sped along Wolf Road – a Town Car sandwiched between two police vehicles. Of course, thought Daniel. Every theatrical production needed its star attraction. And every star insisted on making the most dramatic entrance possible.

The crowd parted as the vehicles pushed slowly to the main entrance. A bodyguard opened the back door of the Town Car and Governor Andrew Becker climbed out, all teeth and tan, his features arranged so that they conveyed just how bad he felt about what had happened. Daniel could imagine him practicing his pained look in front of the mirror, a coterie of advisors suggesting minute facial adjustments.

Daniel shouldered his rifle and studied Becker through the scope as Allan Laird stepped forward to shake the governor’s hand. Cameramen jockeyed with the crowd. College kids held up their cell phones to snap a picture. Two people held up great slabs of iPads to do the same. It was as much as Daniel could do not to burst out laughing. He lowered his rifle. He could have killed them both where they stood. No one could have stopped him. But that would have been too easy.