The Innocent: The New Ryan Lock Novel (22 page)

A series of arrows sped off from Becker and Reeves to a half-dozen other pictures of boys and young men. They included Jack Barnes, and ranged up from him to a couple of young men who looked to be in their late twenties.

Lock nodded in the direction of this cluster. ‘Victims?’ he asked Agent Lee.

Lee glanced across at Becky. As counsel, she would have a say in what they shared with Lock and what they chose to withhold. Despite whatever recommendation Levon or anyone else in the Bureau had given him, he was still an outsider. Although, given the conduct of the college’s police department, he was likely to be more trusted than most people around here.

‘Jack Barnes you know about. The others have contacted us in relation to either Becker or Weston. So, yes, victims,’ said Becky. ‘From what we can gather, this is only a very small sample of the number we expect to find.’

One of the pictures of an earnest-looking young man in his late teens had a red frame. ‘This one,’ said Lock, getting up and tapping a finger against the photograph. ‘He was murdered?’

‘Suicide,’ said Agent Lee. ‘The father contacted us. The young man had a history of mental-health problems. He took his life a few days ago. He mentioned Becker in the suicide note he left.’

‘He mention Weston?’ Lock asked. ‘Or anyone else?’

Becky shook her head. ‘Just Becker, although there was a reference to “them”.’

‘Levon’s going to be here later today. But while we’re waiting, you’ve given us what you know, how about telling Becky and me what you think’s going on?’

‘Malik said that Jack referred to more than one person. Of course, that was before any of us knew about Weston Reeves. So, from what the victims have told you so far, was Reeves actively involved in the abuse too? Or was he just the muscle?’

‘Both,’ said Becky.

Lock walked to the window and looked out over the campus. Kids were still going to class with backpacks slung over their shoulders. Life was continuing.

‘I think this had been going on for a while,’ said Lock. ‘Because of Becker’s money and connections, no one had the balls to blow the whistle. Until Malik saw what he did. When buying him off with a new and improved contract didn’t work out, someone, most likely Reeves, either alone or working with someone else, went nuclear. They killed the Shaw family, and tried to frame Malik for it. They got wind that Malik had called in people from outside and panicked. Now everyone’s ass was on the line. They used Tromso to cover it up by torching the crime scene and destroying the forensics. We on the same page so far?’

‘Pretty much,’ said Lee.

Lock held out his hands, palms open and facing up. ‘Except we have a couple of loose ends. Jack Barnes and his mom are missing. They could already be dead. Taken out as part of the cover-up. But that would still fit. The real head-scratcher, though, is whoever jacked up Chancellor Laird.’

‘Third perp,’ said Agent Lee. ‘They don’t want to be caught so they kill Becker and Reeves. Laird is just one piece of the puzzle. They’re taking a scorched-earth approach. Likely they’re the person or persons who killed Shaw’s wife and kids.’

‘Except,’ said Lock, ‘none of your victims mentions anyone apart from Becker and Reeves. That’s weird.’

‘Some of the victims have mentioned Reeves wearing a mask during the abuse. Perhaps it wasn’t him the whole time. Maybe it was this third person.’

Lock glanced back to the wall. ‘That would make sense,’ he said. ‘So we have another perp still out there.’

There was a knock at the door. Lee got up to answer it. He opened the door to Kelly Svenson. She was in blue campus-police uniform. A Glock 9mm hung on her hip. She looked at Lock, then away. She was off, he thought. Way off.

‘Just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed,’ she said to the two FBI personnel, pointedly ignoring Lock.

‘Yeah, thanks, we’re good,’ said Agent Lee.

‘Okay, well, let me know if that changes,’ she said, and exited.

Lock gave it a moment, his eyes never leaving the door. ‘You know she watched Tromso take my partner out in the woods, right?’

Becky tapped her pen on the desk. ‘We asked her about that. She said she had no idea what Tromso was planning.’

‘And you believe her?’ Lock said.

‘You think she’s in on it?’ Agent Lee said. ‘She joined the department here less than a year ago. It’s more likely she was worried about crossing her boss than an active accomplice.’

Lock knew that Lee had a point. She might not have known what Tromso had planned. And even if she had, would she, as a new member of the department, try to stop him? Sadly, in the real world, people like Malik Shaw were the exception, not the rule. It took a lot for a member of an organization like a small police department to blow the whistle. When confronted by corruption many people closed their eyes, especially when those who hadn’t were killed for their trouble.

‘What’s her background?’ Lock asked. ‘I mean you’ve looked into it, right?’

‘Still looking,’ said Becky. ‘But so far it checks out.’

‘She told us that she knew Tromso wasn’t right about five minutes after she walked into the job,’ said Lee. ‘But she didn’t have evidence until recently, and by then things were moving at such a pace that she wasn’t sure what to do. I thought the same thing you do, Lock, but her background is clean as a whistle. She’s worked in law enforcement for ten years and no one has a bad word to say about her. She’s a straight arrow.’

Lock wasn’t convinced.

As Lock walked out of the main administration building, Kelly Svenson pushed off the rear of the police cruiser she was leaning against while talking to one of her officers. ‘Mr Lock?’

Lock kept walking. He wanted to check in with Ty, and then he planned on helping out with the search for Eve and Jack Barnes. He was also planning a detour back to the home of Weston Reeves to canvass some of the neighbors, and see if he couldn’t get anything on the mysterious third man, who was still on the loose.

‘Mr Lock?’ she called after him. Finally, he stopped and turned. ‘I’d like to talk to you. If I may.’

‘Oh, we’ll talk, all right. Once this is all done I plan on having a good, long talk with you. I’m sure Tyrone will too, seeing as how you sat back and watched Tromso drive him off into the wilds to meet Tromso’s buddy Reeves.’

Her face hardened. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. It wasn’t what it looked like. Not at all.’

‘So what was it, then?’ Lock asked her.

She folded her arms. ‘You wouldn’t believe me anyway so what does it matter?’

Lock stepped toward her. ‘What is this? Junior high? You sat there and watched as your asshole boss took my partner out to the boonies to be tortured by some grade-A wack-job, who liked kids and torture, preferably mixed together. Listen, do me a favor, keep out of my way. You interfere with what I’m doing here, or Ty when he gets back, and that rinky-dink badge won’t save you.’

Something flickered in her eyes. It was there, and then it was gone, but Lock had seen it. It wasn’t a look a cop gave someone: there was more to it. It was a look that spoke of hidden anger.

‘Just stay within the bounds of the law, Mr Lock, and we’ll be fine.’

Lock smirked at her. ‘You too.’

‘I’ve asked the chancellor to organize a vigil at the stadium. Y’know, for the victims, the Shaw family and the others. The kids. It’ll be on Friday night. Hope you can make it.’

She was waiting for some kind of reaction. He wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say. That a vigil made it all okay? That she was a good person for suggesting it? That everyone holding hands and singing ‘Kumbaya’ would mean the students could go back to class and the college back to making money?

Lock remembered Penn State’s footballers taking a knee while they prayed for Jerry Sandusky’s victims. It had struck him as hollow and self-serving, a public-relations exercise. He had wanted to throw up. By themselves, public shows of contrition meant little unless the regret was sincere. It was like tossing a fifty into the plate at church when everyone else had nickels. It told the world a lot about you, but perhaps not in the manner you had intended.

When he didn’t say anything, Officer Svenson walked back to her patrol car without another word.

He walked on across campus. Flakes of snow started to fall. They were tentative at first, almost apologetic. Up above, the sun was struggling to break through watery white-grey clouds. On the horizon there were darker clouds.

Ty stood in the middle of the empty motel room. The TV was still on, the jovial game-show host navigating his way between two corn-fed Midwestern families as they tried to guess a hundred people’s answers to a question about things you could lick. The host faked outrage at a series of thinly veiled double-entendres as the audience laughed along.

The motel-room bed was still made. The pre-paid cell phone that Lock had given Malik sat on a chipped night-stand that was bolted to the wall. Next to the phone was a Jim Beam bottle. It was empty. Ty picked up the pre-paid cell and put it into his pocket.

He walked into the small bathroom. The supplies that Lock had left Malik were neatly stacked next to the shower. The toilet and sink were pebble-dashed with vomit. Malik was not a drinker. The most Ty had ever seen him consume was a glass of wine with dinner, and that was only if the kids weren’t present. Both of them had seen too many people in their old neighborhood being dragged under by alcohol and narcotics. They were an escape from real life, not a solution. At the same time, could anyone blame Malik for seeking oblivion after what had happened? Ty couldn’t.

There was no sign of a struggle. No lamps had been knocked over. There was no blood. No broken mirrors or scattered clothing.

Malik had been taken by something more frightening to Ty than a kidnapper or the cops. His friend had been lost to despair.

Ty walked out of the motel room. The manager was waiting for him.

‘He’s gone, right?’ the manager said. It wasn’t a question motivated by concern so much as business. The manager wanted to rent the room, even though Ty knew that Lock had paid him up front for the next week.

‘You sure you didn’t see him leave?’ Ty asked.

‘I didn’t even see a black guy go in there. It was a white guy rented the room.’

‘Where are the liquor stores and bars round here?’ Ty asked.

The manager dug his dirty thumbnail at a sticker someone had slapped on the counter. ‘Take your pick. There ain’t any shortage. Y’know, seeing as this guy was hiding out here, I could have been in a lot of trouble. A small consideration might not be out of the way.’

Ty stared at the guy. ‘Say what?’

The manager held up his hands. ‘Okay, forget it.’

Ty turned away and walked back to the street, leaving his vehicle in the parking lot. About a half-block down, he saw a flickering neon light advertising domestic beer. He started toward it.

The empty bottle weighed heavily on his mind. He and Malik had escaped not just their old neighborhood, but the pattern of despondency and failure that seemed to be genetically coded into the people they had grown up with.

When he reached the sign, he saw that the bar hadn’t opened yet. Ty slipped down a side alley and walked round to the back. A truck was unloading. A middle-aged woman with dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a thick plaid shirt and jeans, was counting off boxes of booze. Ty pulled out his cell and slid his finger over the screen, pulling up a picture of Malik. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, sorry to take up your time, but have you seen this gentleman over the past twenty-four hours?’

She took a look. ‘This the coach from Harrisburg?’

‘That’s him,’ said Ty. ‘You see him?’

She took a step back and studied Ty. ‘You a cop?’

‘A friend who needs to find him.’

‘He was in here last night, but he didn’t stay. Came in, looked around, had a drink and split.’

‘You see which direction he headed?’ Ty asked.

‘Nope. Once a customer is out that door, my interest kinda wanes.’

‘You didn’t think to call the cops?’

‘Nope. If I had to call the cops on every one of my customers that they wanted to speak to I’d be out of business. It’s not exactly the Polo Lounge back there.’

‘Can I ask you how he looked? I know it’s a strange question.’

She took a clipboard from the truck driver and cast an eye down the delivery manifest. She scratched something out. ‘There’s only one case of Makers Daniel here, not two.’ The driver mumbled an apology. Ty had the sense that not much got past this lady.

‘You’re his friend?’ she asked Ty, tilting her head back and studying him.

‘I am.’

‘Then I’d say you’d better find him fast.’

Jack Barnes hunkered down and peered through the hole.

‘Do you see it?’ the man asked him. ‘Look, over there.’

Jack’s eyes roamed the woods, but it was difficult to see anything through the tumbling snow. It was cold, even with the thick socks and hiking boots he’d been given. He was tired and hungry and he wanted to go back to his mom.

That was when he saw it, circling a red pine no more than a hundred yards away. It was about the size of a large German shepherd dog with a thick mottled gray-white coat and piercing pale green eyes that held him spellbound. The gray wolf threw its head back and howled. The sound ran all the way through the carpet of snow, through his boots and along his spine. ‘I see it,’ he whispered.

The man, whom he was starting to think of as a friend, had his rifle with him. Jack was afraid he might want to kill the wolf, but he seemed as transfixed by it as Jack was. Not that Jack trusted him entirely. After all, that was how things had started before. With someone who had pretended to be his friend, only for him to discover that they were his friends for what they could get or, rather, for what Jack would do or allow to be done to him.

‘You see, Jack, there are wolves and there’s prey. Which would you rather be?’

Jack didn’t have to think about it. ‘A wolf.’

‘Me too, Jack. I started as prey and then I turned myself into a wolf. You can make that journey too.’