John Hart - Iron House

Abigail closed her eyes, and in her mind saw Julian broken in his room. She saw a body in a long wire basket. It was nearing the surface, black water going green, green water fading to clear. The sockets were empty and frayed. Fish had chewed flesh from the bone, and the lips were tattered over clean, white teeth. Something flickered in the open mouth.

“Jesus…” It came as a whisper.

“You okay?”

She rubbed her temples. “Headache.”

Michael said nothing. He drove fast, and at the mansion Abigail told him to drive around back, where he saw a twelve-car garage. It was made of stone, long and low. Wooden doors gleamed. Abigail pointed to a bay near the end, and when he stopped they got out.

“Come with me.”

She disappeared into a side entrance, and Michael followed. Inside, he saw hints of steel and glossy paint, keys on a long row of hooks. Abigail did not waste time. The car she chose was a thing of exceptional beauty. He didn’t know much about Mercedes Benz, but guessed that this car was the most expensive one they made.

Abigail handed him the keys. “The Land Rover’s terrible on the highway.”

“What’s the best way to get Julian out?”

“Julian’s not going with you. Neither am I.”

“You heard my reasons.”

“We don’t run from our problems in this family. I trust the senator. Whatever his faults, he always does what needs to be done.”

“Julian could implicate himself.”

“He needs to be in his home, with people he loves. He’s not strong enough to go tearing around the state with you.”

“If this is about trust-”

“I trust your intent,” Abigail said. “I know nothing of your ability to care for Julian.”

“So, come with me.”

“I’m staying with my son.”

Michael looked at his watch. Minutes were ticking past. “Give a cop a body, and he’s like a dog with a scent, especially if it’s a headline case, which this will be. These cops…” Michael paused to give his words weight. “The only thing they smell is Julian. Understand? They missed him last time. This time, they’ll come with the weight of the world behind them. They’ll eat him for lunch.”

“Julian’s under a doctor’s care. The lawyers say that will buy us time.”

“Lawyers can only do so much. We need to find out why Ronnie Saints was here. We need to know who the other body is. If Julian didn’t kill these men, we need to know who did. And if he did do it, we need a plan to save him. We can’t do any of that without information. We can be in Asheville in five hours. It’s a start, Abigail. It’s what we have.”

“Just take the car and go.”

“They’ll break him. Do you understand? Julian’s mind will not handle a custodial interrogation.”

“I’m sorry, Michael. I have to stay with Julian, and my heart says he should stay home, where he feels safe. You’ll have to go without me.” Abigail pushed a button and the bay door began to rise. They saw pavement, then trees and a hint of sky. Michael saw the cops first.

“Ah, shit.” He stepped to the door. Cars were on the lake road, lights flashing as they accelerated for the house. “We’ll never get him out.”

The police were a quarter mile away, and coming fast. Abigail’s cell phone rang. “It’s Jessup,” she said, then answered, her face still and smooth, her gaze on the police cars. “Hello, Jessup.” A pause while she listened. “Yes, I know. I see them coming now.” Another pause. “No, I’m in the garage. Yes, Michael is with me. They found something in the lake.”

She listened for a long minute, then covered the mouthpiece and whispered to Michael. “Jessup was on-scene when the body came to shore. He says its been in the water for a few weeks; a male, mostly skeletal. Weighted with cement blocks. No identification.”

The first police car disappeared around the front of the house.

“They’re at the front door,” Abigail said, back on the phone. “I’m going in now.” She listened for a moment, and then said, “No. I want to be there.”

Michael heard Falls’s voice this time, tin-like in the quiet of the garage. “That’s not wise.”

“But I need to be there. I need…”

“I don’t want you involved with this. It’s not smart. You know it. The senator’s there, the lawyers. We need to keep emotion out of this, let the professionals handle it.”

“But Julian…”

She stopped talking. Falls’s voice faded to a low thrum, and Abigail seemed to shrink as she listened. Finally, she said, “Okay. Yes. I know you’re right. Yes. May I-”

A light died in her face, and she lowered the phone. “He had to go.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“He’s afraid I’ll lose it. Emotionally.”

“Would you?”

“Normally, no, but it’s different with Julian. I get protective. I overreact. It won’t help Julian to see that.”

“Come with me, then.”

Abigail looked momentarily lost, her gaze uncertain as it moved from Michael to the car, the house. “Do you really believe Julian didn’t do it?”

“Ronnie died about the same time that Julian had his breakdown, so maybe he had something to do with it. But you say the other body is skeletal. That means weeks have passed, maybe more. How was Julian a week ago?”

“He was fine.”

“Two weeks ago?”

“Same thing.”

Michael shook his head. “He didn’t do it. We need to know more.”

“But, Asheville…?”

“Elena’s gone. I can’t get to Julian. This is what I have: my brother, who needs me.” Abigail looked at the house, and Michael said, “You can’t help him here.”

“Just there and back, right?”

He nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go.”

They got in the car, and the road out was silent and smooth. Abigail said little. Turn here. Straight ahead. At the perimeter wall, an arched gate opened in equal silence, and Michael pushed down on the gas, the heavy car sliding into light traffic. Michael worked his way west around the edge of town. Fields gave way to subdivisions. Shopping centers marred the roadside. Traffic thickened.

“You want the main highway north.” Abigail spoke softly. “A few miles up. That’ll take you to Interstate 40. The interstate goes all the way to the mountains.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s how I brought Julian home.”

She said it quiet and small, and when Michael looked at her, their eyes met as a very simple idea hung in the air between them. Iron House was not far from Asheville.

An hour, maybe.

A lifetime.

Fifty minutes later, Michael gunned it onto the interstate, the Mercedes at 110 before the speed even registered. He took his foot off the gas and settled down at nine over the limit. Put the car on cruise.

When he checked his phone, Abigail noticed. “She hasn’t called?”

“No.” He put the phone in his pocket.

“Did you two have a fight?”

“Something like that.”

“She’s a pretty girl.”

“She’s my life.”

“Are you married?”

“Not yet.” A mile of tarmac slid under the car. “She’s pregnant.”

Abigail turned her head, and Michael expected to hear something predictable and bland: Congratulations.

That’s not what he heard.

“If a schizophrenic has a sibling, that sibling has a forty to sixty-five percent chance of being schizophrenic. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“Forty to sixty-five. Better than half. It tends to run in the family. Siblings. Children.”

She was talking about Elena’s pregnancy. Michael tensed.

“Have you ever been diagnosed?”

“No.”

“Have you ever felt-”

“I’m not schizophrenic.”