T. Bunn - Winner Take All

“Not me.” He drained the mug. “But Erin does.”

“Of course.”

“Even so, stealing a child wouldn’t be their way. They’d go after what would hurt her the most. Her career.”

“Would they kill her?”

“Maybe. Opera’s like every other art form, too many talented people hunting too few spots. It breeds a special form of viciousness. Why are you asking?”

“You mean, other than the fact that I’ve got to clear you of a murder charge?” Marcus glanced at his watch. “I need to be rolling. You’re welcome to come along if you like.”

Dale gestured at the pile of grass-stained clothes he’d worn since the arrest. “Got something that’d fit me?”

The man outweighed him by forty pounds. “Sweats only,” Marcus replied. “But I seriously doubt anybody will mind.”

The day was quiet and drenched with eight o’clock sun. Dale endured the ride in stoic silence. When they pulled into the church parking lot and Dale remained where he was, Marcus wondered if he had made a mistake, bringing this broken man to a black country church. Then he realized Dale’s gaze rested upon the hillside, where the New Horizons headquarters glinted like a polarized tombstone to his own career.

“You okay with all this?”

“I was just thinking,” Dale said. “How hard it is to be so wrong about love.”

Marcus kept his engine running and the car cool. Now that they were here, he felt no urge to move inside. “Do something for me, will you? Think back to the last time you saw Erin. I mean, before New York.”

“When she took Celeste.”

“Tell me about that night.”

Dale looked at him. “Why?”

He understood the man’s desire to avoid the pain of inspecting a running sore. “Kirsten has the feeling maybe there’s an ulterior motive at work. Something we’ve missed up to now.”

Dale turned back to the front windshield. “Erin called and said she was over for another PBS special.”

“You mean, back in the States.”

“She wanted to come down and talk. How could I refuse her? She hadn’t seen her baby in months. We met for dinner. The worst in a long line of bad moves.”

“You did the only thing you could, Dale.”

“She played her charm card. Again. I let myself get taken in. Again.”

“What did you talk about?”

“The usual. Her career. Mine. She wanted to know about the burglary.”

“The what?”

“A couple of guys broke into the house. Didn’t I tell you about this?”

Something niggled at his mind, but Marcus could not bring the pieces together. “It was a week or so before she came down?”

“Five days, maybe six. I caught them in the act. Clocked them with a lamp. Made the papers.” He shrugged. No big deal in the grand scheme. “Erin and I had your normal catch-up kind of talk.”

“What happened after dinner?”

“She drove me home. Like usual when I’d been drinking.” He rubbed his face, pushing the glasses up to his forehead, revealing the white splotches on his temples and the weary creases and the eyes of one already convicted and condemned. “Another major mistake.”

“You passed out?”

“Apparently. I don’t remember. One minute I was on the sofa in the back room, the next I was in bed and the house was on fire.”

“Do you normally lose consciousness when you drink?”

“No. Not usually.”

“Ever?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m just searching, Dale. Do you frequently pass out?”

“Not ever that I recall.”

“What about forgetting events?”

“You’re suggesting Erin drugged me?”

Marcus cut the motor and opened his door. “I don’t know, Dale. I wish I did.”

Outside the car the heat hung thick as fog. Dale wore an old pair of Marcus’ running shoes without socks, a golf shirt, and sweatpants that on Marcus sagged almost to his knees. The simple exertion of crossing the parking lot left Dale sweating so hard the back of his shirt was plastered to his skin. “Are you all right?”

Dale waited until they had stepped inside the air-conditioned coolness to reply, “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Marcus did not have the heart to warn him of just how long a murder investigation and trial could require. He offered Dale his keys. “Go on home if you like, I’ll grab a ride with someone later.”

Dale accepted the keys but staggered toward the sanctuary. A pair of ushers stood by the doors. As soon as Marcus introduced him, the ushers were vying over which hand Dale would shake first. Others were called out from the sanctuary, where the choir and music director were busy warming up the crowd. People saw the gathering by the rear doors and moved close. Dale’s name was passed around. More smiles and hands extended toward the confused man.

When Marcus finally managed to pry him loose, Dale asked, “What was that all about?”

“A lot of families here live off New Horizons paychecks. I should have warned you.”

“But I’ve been fired.”

“They know what you tried to do in there. It means a lot.”

The music and the shouting and the applause did not seem to bother Dale nearly as much as the welcome. When the minister invited the congregation to offer one another Sabbath greetings, Dale shrank inside his own skin. People gave no sign of minding either his manner or his dress. They didn’t turn from him until the next chorus began.

Marcus noticed Omar Dell only after the service ended. The young man wore a collage of dark gray-gabardine suit, slightly darker shirt, finely patterned tie. He worked his way smoothly toward Marcus, doing the easy greetings of one known and liked by many. When he finally stood before Marcus he said, “I’d heard about you hanging with the home crowd.” He motioned to where Dale was trying his best to reach the outer doors. “But how come you didn’t take him someplace tamer, you know, so he could mellow with the vanillas for Jesus crew?”

“Now is not the time or the place, Omar.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Omar steered them over to the side aisle. “This is what you might call a very private heads-up.”

“Call my office tomorrow.”

“You just hold tight and listen. I’m doing this as a favor to a mutual friend.” He moved in closer still. “Yesterday evening, papers were filed by Health and Human Services, requesting an emergency hearing first thing Monday morning.”

“What about?”

“They aim on declaring Dale Steadman an unfit parent.”

Marcus backed against the wall, but was unable to find a handhold. “That’s insane.”

Omar grinned, satisfied with the impact of his news. “Makes you wonder, don’t it.”

“Dale doesn’t even have possession of the child.”

“Sounds to me like people in the know are trying for another of these end runs around you and your client.” Omar shifted so that he was right in Marcus’ line of sight. “Now you got to promise me, you come up with another headline, you call me first.”

Marcus pushed past the reporter. “I have to find Dale.”

Dale had thought getting outside would bring safety. But the heat formed a thunderous din in his head, worse even than the church’s echoes. He held to a steady gait across the parking lot, though it would have been more comfortable to fall to all fours and crawl. It was not the drinking that left him so devastated. Or at least, not that alone. The church’s welcome had been crippling, a smiling condemnation of everything he had failed to achieve at New Horizons. As if he needed another reminder.

His cell phone pinged as he was opening the passenger door. He had carried it with him constantly since the night. Another symbol of futile hope. Dale waited until he had started the engine and turned the a/c on full before answering. “What now?”