Robert Crais - Hostage

Two weeks later

TALLEY

The fantasy was always the same: On the days that Jeff Talley visited the avocado orchard, he imagined Brendan Malik playing in the trees. He saw the boy laughing, kicking up dust as he ran, then climbing into the branches where he swung by his knees. Brendan was always happy and laughing in these daydreams, even with his skin mottled in death and blood pulsing from his neck. Talley had never been able to imagine the boy any other way.

Jane said, “What are you thinking?”

The two of them were slouched down in the front seat of his patrol car, watching red-tailed hawks float above the trees. Amanda had stayed in Los Angeles, but Jane had come up for the weekend.

“Brendan Malik. Remember? That boy.”

“I don’t remember.”

Talley realized that he had never told her. He had not mentioned Brendan Malik to anyone after that night he left the boy’s house, not even the police psychologist.

“I guess I never told you.”

“Who was he?”

“A victim in one of the negotiations. It’s not important anymore.”

Jane took his hand. She turned sideways so that she faced him.

“It’s important if you’re thinking about it.”

Talley considered that.

“He was a little boy, nine, ten, something like that. About Thomas’s age. I think about him sometimes.”

“You’ve never mentioned him.”

“I guess not.”

Talley found himself telling her about the night with Brendan Malik, of holding the boy’s hand, of staring into his eyes as the little boy died, of the overwhelming feelings of failure and shame.

Listening, she cried, and he cried, too.

“I was trying to see his face right now, but I can’t. I don’t know whether to feel happy or sad about that. You think that’s bad?”

Jane squeezed his hand.

“I think it’s good we’re talking about these things. It’s a sign that you’re healing.”

Talley shrugged, then smiled at her.

“About goddamned time.”

Jane smiled in that way she had, the smile that was encouraging and pleased.

“Did you find out about Thomas?”

“I tried, but they won’t tell me anything. I guess it’s best this way.”

Walter Smith and his family had entered the U.S. Marshals’ witness protection program. They had simply vanished; one day here, the next gone, hidden by the system. Talley hoped that Thomas would one day contact him, but he didn’t think it likely. It was safer that way.

Jane said, “How much time before you have to get back?”

“I’ve got time. I’m the Chief.”

Jane smiled wider.

“Let’s walk.”

They walked from sunlight to shade to sun, bees swirling sluggishly around them, lazy in the midday heat. It was good to walk. It was peaceful. Talley had been away for a very long time, hiding inside himself, but now he was back. He was on the way back.

The orchard, as always, was as still as a church.

“I’m glad you’re here, Jane.”

Jane squeezed his hand. Talley knew, then, that though a church was a place to bury the dead, it was also a place to celebrate the living. Their lives could begin again.