Mania (25 page)

Laura Daly was working Christmas day, as she always had. On that cloudless, sunny day, the huge, nearly empty newsroom was unusually bright with natural light. Nick wasn’t certain why, but it felt like Christmas. “It’s an incredible story,” Daly was saying. “What a tapestry. I can’t quite believe it—all of them working together. Sara, Jillian, Barnes, your brother. Detective Stolie. What a conspiracy.”

“There was a lot at stake. And there were a lot of different things going on,” Nick acknowledged. “Sara and her mother had been planning this for years, but they were still opportunists. Who knows? Maybe they hadn’t been planning to kill Hamlin from the start. Maybe they had only been planning to set him up for raping Sara, to see how much they could extort from him. When Sara met Sam and found out about his work with Barnes, the opportunity he presented was too good to pass up. Sam and Barnes were trying to bilk money out of Hamlin, too. Why take a little, though, when you can get your hands on the whole thing?” Nick smiled ruefully at his boss before he went on. “Like Sara said, I was the perfect sacrifice. And then Jackson Ferry came along and nearly spoiled their plans. Lucky for them they had Stolie to help them pick up the pieces.”

Daly shook her head. “And they murdered Van Gundy, too.”

“I should have put it together earlier.”

“You were drugged, Nick. Half out of your mind.”

“Except for you, Sara was the only one who knew that I was going to meet him. Stolie was the triggerman, but it was Sara and Jillian who wanted Van Gundy dead. The last thing they needed was you and me breaking open that scandal. We would have brought down Hamlin’s empire right before they got their hands on it.”

Daly looked very satisfied. “It’s going to make a damn good series of headlines.”

Nick shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t want anything to do with it.”

“No,” Daly said. “I’m sure you don’t.” She became pensive. “What are your plans? I suppose you’ll have to stay here in Seattle for Sara and Jillian’s trial. But after that?”

Nick cast his gaze down toward the floor. “I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t know.”

Daly looked at him through the eyes of a friend. “You really shouldn’t take the wrong lessons from this.”

Nick waited for the woman to explain.

“It must not be easy to accept Sam’s guilt. And it must hurt, everything you lost with Sara. I can’t even imagine. But the thing of it is, Nick, no man can go through life alone. My father once said to me, ‘You walk your destiny through a labyrinth.’ I think about that sometimes, and it strikes me how difficult it is to walk that labyrinth by yourself, without a beacon.” She rested a hand on Nick’s back. “Whether you understand it or not, you have a family here in Seattle.” Nick was unable to mask the skepticism creasing his forehead. “We don’t want to lose you.”

Laura Daly let her hand linger too long on Nick’s back, waiting for him to meet her gaze. Their eyes connected, though only for a second. Nick looked away without returning her smile. He wasn’t certain why, but he found himself thinking of the son she had lost, who had disappeared without any trace.

I don’t have a family
, he thought to say, but the words died inside him.
Neither do you, Laura. And I don’t know anyone who does
.

Outside in the street, the sun was shining brilliantly on the huge wreath hung above the front doors of the
Seattle Telegraph
building. A homeless man walking past stopped to tie his shoe, then regarded the young man as he exited the building, a camera dangling from his bandaged arm.

“Anything you got for me, I’d be grateful,” the bum said.

Nick reached automatically into his pocket for a few coins but then stopped himself. He looked the other man in the eye and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said.

“It’s Christmas,” the homeless man said bitterly.

Nick shrugged, then turned and began walking away. The homeless man watched him, then began walking slowly down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

It has been a long trip.

I can trace the beginning all the way back to a day in Kumasi, Ghana, when at five years old I decided to sell my parents a copy of a book I had stapled together—a few pages I called
Ali & Fatima
. Next stop was the aptly titled
An Event That History Forgot
, which I wrote in the wee hours of the morning during the summer of my twelfth year. After that follow too many failed attempts to remember. I never stopped believing. What makes this journey all the more extraordinary, though, is the help I received along the way from family and friends. Belief in yourself is a graceful blindness. The belief of others is a blind grace, a precious faith.

I am not going to try to reckon that faith here. I hate books with long acknowledgments. There are a few names, though, that must be mentioned. Not to would be criminal.

To the extent that any of this story appears at all effortless, the credit belongs to the people who picked me up and carried me the last few big steps. John Paine, whom I will never be able to repay. Jaimee Garbacik (I will always remember the first call I received from you. I was standing in Miami International, about to board a plane. “Is this Craig?”). Frank Weimann (“Hey—I have some good news for you.”). And Michaela Hamilton, who is all the proof I need that guardian angels do exist.

Any deficiencies are mine.

Don’t miss the next exciting thriller by Craig Larsen…

Coming from Pinnacle in 2010!