Rick Mofina - Six Seconds

“Maggie Conlin. It’s all linked to Tarver. The Conlin name and address were the last things Ray Tarver was checking.”

“You’re sinking deeper into trouble. It’s over. We’ve just got the autopsy on Raymond Tarver.”

“And?”

“And nothing. His death was just like his wife and kids. Head trauma consistent with a wilderness acci dent. Nothing suspicious. Case cleared.”

“No, that’s not right. I told you Emily Tarver spoke to me.”

“Dan, it was in the minutes before she died. The little girl was in shock.”

“It’s what she said, Mike. She spoke to me, and Nora spoke to me. ”

“Nora?”

“I know it’s weird, but I swear when I was in the water, I heard her.”

“Dan.”

Several long moments passed as Stotter absorbed the fact that one of his best investigators had just revealed that his dead wife was speaking to him on the case. In the silence, Stotter groped for a response before he exhaled slowly.

“Dan, at the outset I respected your suspicions on Tarver. They were valid. I thought letting you go after them would help the case. And I thought it would help you. You’ve been through hell and maybe it was too soon to throw you back in the mix. Maybe the Califor nia woman is some form of psychological compensa tion for what you’ve been through.”

“Mike, you’ve got to listen to me.”

“Dan, you’re a good detective, but you’ve still got some things to work through. It’s going to take time.”

“I’m not coming back until I’m done.”

“Dan, I’m giving you an order. If you’re not back here in twenty-four hours, I’m sending somebody to get you. Is that clear?”

Graham hung up then met himself in the mirror.

He’d just refused a direct order.

Everything was on the line now.

Montana

Time was going to be tight for Jake.

Around midnight, he was rolling northeast out of Helena bound for Great Falls to take a load of groceries to Shelby. At Shelby, he’d haul lumber back to Lewistown.

He’d be heavy both ways. He made good time with the jobs in Butte and Missoula. He’d make money.

And, if he was lucky with traffic, even allowing for buildup for the pope’s visit, he’d be back in time to catch some sleep before Logan’s big event.

Logan.

Jake ran his hand over his face.

He tightened his grip on the wheel because some thing powerful was pulling at him. He saw it, a few hours ago, in the moment he rolled away from the house.

He saw it in Logan’s tiny silhouette in the window as he watched him pull away.

In that moment, Jake saw the truth.

In that moment, Jake realized that for the past five or six months since they left Blue Rose Creek he had been a fool. He’d made the biggest mistake of his life. So what was he going to do about it?

Jake was about ten miles south of Great Falls when his cell phone rang.

“Hey, it’s Crocker at dispatch. Great Falls, Shelby and Lewistown been scrubbed.”

“No way. All three?”

“Yup. Sorry, amigo, it happens.”

“Man, I was counting my money.”

“Head home. You’ll be paid for the trips you did up to this point. I’ve got you for Atlanta this Sunday. That’s a lock.”

Frustrated, Jake wheeled east through Great Falls to head to Cold Butte and his predicament.

The facts were inescapable now.

The horror of what he’d seen in Iraq had turned him into a monster. Take that day in the supermarket, which led to the embarrassment on the soccer field. Consumed with paranoia, he’d been convinced Maggie had cheated with Ullman.

But he was dead wrong.

It had never happened.

He was the one who’d cheated with Samara. And he was the one who’d ruined everything by running off with her, taking Logan with him and lying to him.

How could he have done that?

Tear the boy from his life and tell him that his mother no longer loved him.

It was unforgivable.

Overcome with shame, Jake steadied his grip on the wheel as the truth continued hammering at him.

Samara had saved his life.

She was a good person who’d suffered her own tragedies. She was good to him and Logan but she was distant, aloof, as if she were still in mourning. Jake didn’t belong with Samara.

He belonged with Maggie.

His wife. The only woman he’d ever loved. Dancing with her in the gym.

“Hey, Jude.”

Iraq had taken something from all of them.

Jake gazed up at the stars, wondering if it was too late to go back to Blue Rose Creek and Maggie.

Traffic had slowed ahead at a security checkpoint.

Checkpoint.

Jake fought off a flashback.

He knew about the advisory to drivers concerning all big rigs heading into Lone Tree County. Standard pro cedure around VIP events. He was going to be hung up for an inspection.

No problem, he was empty.

Some forty minutes after the inspectors cleared him, the Montana Highway Patrol waved Jake through.

It was after 3:00 a.m. when he got to Cold Butte, got down Crystal Road, then turned into their lane. He took care to crawl to a near-silent stop next to the house, without waking Logan and Samara.

Hungry, Jake helped himself to a slice of apple pie. As he ate, his problem gnawed at him until he was interrupted by a soft ping in the living room.

Samara’s laptop was on.

That never happened. She never left her computer open like that. Guess she didn’t expect him home. The screen bathed the room in soft blue.

Jake had an idea.

374 Rick Mofina

After he’d finished his pie, he went to their bedroom and checked on Samara. She was asleep. In the room’s dim light he saw the outline of her tailored suit hanging on the closet door.

Jake went to Logan’s room.

The little guy was sawing logs.

A small Bible and rosary that he wanted the pope to bless waited on his nightstand. Logan’s new suit was on the doorknob in anticipation of the visit.

Then it hit Jake full force. It really sunk in.

His son was going to sing for the pope!

Jake swelled with pride and he blinked several times then closed Logan’s door.

Jake turned to the living room.

He’d reached a decision and pulled out his wallet, thumbing through a collection of IDs and business cards, until he found a worn one for:

Stobel and Chadwick

It was Maggie’s card; it had her business e-mail, and her home e-mail was penned on the back. He sat before Samara’s laptop and logged in to his Internet e-mail account. Waiting for the connection, he no ticed her screen saver. Big photos of Samara’s hus band and son stared at Jake, until the screen filled with his e-mail site.

Maggie, Jake started, I don’t know where to begin. I don’t dare expect you to ever forgive me for what I’ve done. All I can hope for is that maybe you’ll understand. First, I’m going to bring Logan home to you…

For the next half hour, the sound of a tapping key board broke the silence as Jake emptied his heart into his letter. When he finished, he read it over. Satisfied, he pressed Send.

The account’s completion bar showed the e-mail going through, until it reached ninety-nine percent, then the machine suddenly shut down.

Some kind of glitch?

Jake considered what he might do, when the machine restarted itself. A symphony of bleating and whirring as images blurred by.

What the heck? What kind of computer was this? It was unlike anything he’d seen. A lot of Arabic, then something just plain weird.

A video popped up, accompanied by a series of timers, some Arabic writing next to it. Then a series of pop-ups, ongoing chat in Arabic. The computer was doing strange things.

A video started.

Jake froze.

Samara was in it.