Ridley Pearson - In Harm's Way

He said nothing, weighing how to answer her without damaging them both down the road. He’d never been in this position. New territory.

“The timing didn’t escape me,” she told him. “And I could already hear the questions: Why hadn’t I called in the breach of the restraining order? Why hadn’t I at least told you or someone else about my connection to him when I had the chance? I’ll tell you why: I panicked. My secret was still safe. My identity, my role in the trial, was sealed by the court; not even you could uncover I was the one who testified against him. I knew that much. No one could possibly connect the two of us. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut and let him be dead. But as it turns out, I underestimated the investigator. Should have known better.”

“Have you done anything to protect Kira?” A question that had to be asked, but as it came out of him, it sounded more like an accusation.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Forgive me for even asking, but you said you couldn’t let her become a suspect. What did you mean by that? Did you do something to protect her?”

“You think I messed with the investigation.”

“You control our record of evidence. I just need to know-”

“My pictures? Are you kidding me?” She turned back. “That’s unfair.”

He searched for the right words, wondering how the law defined conspiracy.

“Unfair… of me,” she said, correcting herself. “Did I consider it? Hell, yes. I printed the truck tires after it was returned to the garage.” She left that hanging there like a knot of bugs around his head. “They’re the right brand. The same tread. I couldn’t be sure if they matched or not. I didn’t see anything to say they did, but I have to admit I considered what I’d do if they did. I thought… I realized I could probably switch out the photos in your office. I mean, it’s all electronic. You probably would have given me access if I’d asked. Did I consider it? Yes. Did I do it?”

He breathed a little easier. The logical next question, he couldn’t ask: Where were you that night? A simple enough question. Explain your head injury that’s on record at the hospital. In fact, he nearly asked both of these. But he stopped himself, knowing the code that would bind him if either answer proved revelatory. He not only didn’t want the answers, he didn’t want to have to lie about having asked them, if it ever came to that.

“I’d seen her nearly come after you that night you were poking around the cottage. It’s not like there was blood or anything in my house. There was nothing in there, my place, to suggest… I thought maybe it had happened outside. And if so, I had a pretty good idea who’d done it.”

“The lilies,” he said. “The pollen wasn’t from Vince Wynn’s.” Not fifteen feet in front of them, like a carpet beneath the tree house, was a flower bed of yellow lilies. “The body was dragged through a flower bed of lilies. Dragged up a hill-way up a hill-and dumped. Rolled off and down a scree slide into some avalanche slash at the side of the highway. The evidence we have supports that scenario. It just took us a while to piece it together. That’s what we call hard evidence.”

“Her taking off without a word. Not answering my calls. Taking the truck when that’s totally off-limits. I know her, Walt. It’s just not like her. But listen to me: she can’t take this. Do you understand? She won’t survive this. If she did this… if she’s put through something like this again… She is beyond fragile right now, has been for a long time. She’s young.”

Should he tell her again that he was no longer looking at Kira? He thought not. He sipped the lemonade to open his throat.

His ability to refrain from and resist corruption through several terms defined him. It was not only a matter of pride, but a matter of identity. So ingrained in him that to contemplate otherwise made him feel physically sick. He searched for a way to do this without doing it. To remain true to himself but to limit collateral damage. To protect and serve, he thought.

“The idea behind what I do,” he found himself saying in a whisper of a voice, “is to serve the public, to do so equally, uniformly, to treat people fairly and equally, the idea being that you make society safer. I accept that that’s a naïve attitude, but there you have it. Safe to live and work and to limit or eliminate fear. As much as it’s a cliché, fear is in fact the real enemy. Fear limits us all. The fear of illness is often much greater than the illness itself. The fear of crime is the same way. So I’m supposed to keep the crime down and to bring in those who commit crimes when they happen, and those two things are supposed to work in concert.”

“I realize how hard this must be. I’m so sorry, Walt.”

He drew in another lungful of air like it was his last. Exhaled. “Harder on you, I know. I can bend the laws, Fiona. I can’t break them.”

“Understood. And I don’t want you to have to do either.”

“It’s supposed to rain tonight,” he said.

“Walt…”

“Bear with me,” he pleaded. “A lightning strike can set an area on fire. Spark a little wildfire that burns an acre or two before help arrives. You’re pretty high here on this knoll. And you’re what, about a mile from the East Fork station house? They’d probably respond in under ten minutes. Five minutes, more like. Five minutes from the time of the call.”

“Walt?”

“The thing about a small fire like that… you’d have to have the right winds so it didn’t hit any buildings. Not much wind tonight, not at the moment, which is good. The thing about blood evidence in the wild? It stays there for a long, long time. It’s recoverable weeks, months, sometimes years later. Rain doesn’t do much to it. Snow. Ice. But wildfire… fire’s the one thing that destroys it.”

An owl screeched from deep in the woods. Bea lifted her head but thought better of it. He heard Fiona swallow and noted her lemonade was still in the drink holder.

“I see,” she said.

“It’s a two-edged sword,” he cautioned. “When a fire’s called in, of course they respond, but we do, too. We’re on the property. We have access at that point.”

“I can’t possibly do something like that.”

“Who said anything about you doing anything?” he said, as if it were the farthest thing from his mind. “It would be entirely improper for me to suggest such a thing. I was simply talking about lightning strikes in general. If a fire started out here, obviously you’d call it in. And they’d be up here quickly.” He dragged himself up out of the chair. Bea jumped to her feet.

Fiona remained seated. “I worked so hard to put all this behind me.” She spoke straight ahead as if the forest were listening.

“When the evidence firms up-and it will-we’re going to act on it. It’s what we do.”

“The thing is,” she said. “A guy like him. He ruins things forever. They talk about second chances, but there are none. People warned me, but I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Even after a fire, you put a little water on it and a forest grows back again. Sometimes prettier than it was. I imagine the same is true for flower beds.”

“Were you listening to me?” she asked caustically.

“What’s important here is whether or not you’re listening to me,” he said.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“What you’re asking-it’s impossible.”

“I’m not asking anything,” he said. “I thought I made that clear.”

“Telling me, asking me, whatever.”

“Shit happens,” he said.

“Do not go there. Do not even think that. That’s not you. You do something like that and it’ll be there between us forever. It won’t bind us. Don’t fool yourself. It’ll be there between us, something you’ll regret, something you’ll always hold against me. Promise me you won’t do this.”