Michael Koryta - Last Words

“So why are you here? You said your boss—”

“I’m in exile,” Mark said, and gave a weary smile. “And maybe I’m fired. It hasn’t been decided yet. My boss wanted me out of the way of the board of directors. He’s fighting for me, and he shouldn’t be.”

“What’s your great transgression?”

He wasn’t going to tell her that. He hadn’t told anyone that, had admitted the truth to only London, who was now busy trying to convince everyone that it was a bullshit story concocted by a desperate inmate seeking attention.

“I can’t disclose that,” he said, but her damn eyes were fixed on his and he couldn’t look away from them. They were magnetic, but not in an attractive sense. Just a powerful one.

“Yes, you can. If you would like to tell me, you should tell me. Would you like to?”

Her voice was almost intimate. He tried to separate himself from her gaze by turning back to his beer, but she said it again: “Would you like to, Mark?”

She hadn’t used his first name before. He looked back up, back into that stare, and said, “I had a snitch in Coleman prison down in Florida. He told me that he’d heard a rumor that someone in there had killed Lauren. And so I offered him ten thousand dollars and free legal assistance for his appeal if he... if he confirmed the rumor.”

“And how was he going to do that?”

“By any means necessary,” Mark said, and his voice was steady. “And if it was confirmed, he had another hundred grand coming his way, though even he didn’t know that, because we didn’t get far enough along.”

“What was the other hundred grand for?”

“Killing him.” He had never told anyone this, not even Jeff. All that was understood of his negotiations in Coleman were that they’d been conducted in pursuit of information.

Diane Martin didn’t move or blink or even seem to breathe.

“You would have arranged a man’s murder?” she said at length. “You would have been comfortable with it?”

“If I could prove that he was the one who’d killed my wife? Absolutely. Without hesitation. My only regret would be that I couldn’t do it myself.”

“Are you at risk for criminal charges?” She held up a hand and said, “If you don’t want to talk about that, you don’t have to. Only tell me if you want to.”

“Nobody knows what I just told you. I don’t know why I chose to.” But he did. He’d told her because she was the only person he’d met who would understand. Not logically, not in the way a shrink or a counselor would claim to understand, but down in her bones, down in the place that had been hollowed out of her and could never be filled again. “Even with the other issues, though, things could have gone badly for me. My boss made sure that they didn’t. The snitch I talked to has a credibility problem. My boss built on that. He sent me up here so I wouldn’t have to answer questions myself. I think he knew that if I did, I’d tell the truth.”

It was an odd answer, and he wasn’t sure why he’d offered it. He was fine telling her that he’d plotted to kill a man, but he also wanted her to know that he hadn’t lied? Maybe it was because he thought she’d respect the former but not the latter.

“I would imagine it is also a problem for your boss because the approach does not fit well with an organization that abhors capital punishment.”

“No,” Mark said. “It does not. And that’s what brings me here, Mrs. Martin. I am just supposed to be out of the way, and I was happy to agree to it, because I need that job for reasons I can’t explain. It is all that I am now. I’m here so my boss can go about protecting me, and your daughter’s death, truth be told, is simply not a case we will take. I’m sorry for any trouble or grief it causes you.”

“What causes grief is Sarah’s absence, and the absence of any resolution.”

“I understand.”

“So perhaps you can convince your organization that this is worth their time.”

Mark frowned. “I thought you didn’t want me doing anything with it. I thought you wanted me gone.”

“Now I’m not so sure. I’m beginning to think you’re supposed to be here.”

He was supposed to be in Florida. He wanted to tell her that, but he couldn’t, not while he was looking into her eyes. So he glanced away again, a coward’s move but a necessary one, and he was ready to explain that this was not the right situation when she said, “What do you think Lauren would say? If she had the chance.”

His first instinct was anger. The question was unfair, and he didn’t like the sound of his wife’s name said in such a familiar fashion from a stranger. But when he turned back, Diane Martin’s eyes were gentle, that unique stare of hers, penetrating curiosity but soft-edged, and he found himself saying, “She’d be a poor judge.”

“Why?”

“Because she wanted to take them all,” he said. “Because she could not hear a story like yours and tell you no. Ever.”

“Can you?”

“Sure.”

“How about I tell you what I think,” she said. “How about I give you what you came for, and then... then you do what you want. But at least you’ll understand the full story. Or as much of it as I can tell.”

Mark took a breath, nodded, and then turned to the bartender and held up two fingers. “We’ll do another round,” he said. His fingers were trembling.

Two hours later, they were still talking.

“Do I think Ridley Barnes did it?” Diane said. “Probably. But I can’t say for sure. It’s that element that haunts me, haunts this town, haunts everyone. From friends to strangers, no one can look me in the eye when Sarah is mentioned because no one really knows. If the man who killed her is just walking around free, enjoying his days, and knowing all the while that he...” Her voice broke. It was a musical voice most of the time, one that didn’t betray her own pain so much as offer to take yours away. Mark wondered who or what had given her the deep wells of composure.

“I understand the basics of the prosecutor’s decision not to pursue charges,” Mark said, “but what did they tell you? Anything different?”

She shook her head. “I can’t think of anything substantially different. It would have been what you heard — lack of usable physical evidence, right?”

“Yes.”

“That’s my understanding.” She paused, swallowed, and said, “But then Ridley brought Sarah up and said he couldn’t remember where he’d found her. Then he stopped giving interviews to the police entirely. Offered no cooperation. The prosecutor was worried about getting the physical evidence into court, because Ridley had an explanation for it, since he’d carried her out. They also couldn’t ascribe a motive. Unless he’s just a sociopath, which is my vote.”

“When we talk about motive, we have to talk about your family,” Mark said. “I’m sure you understand that. Are there people you and your husband might have had problems with who—”

“No. No one who came to mind. And my husband died when Sarah was fourteen. I don’t think he left enemies behind. I think he just left a lot of emptiness and sorrow.”

“You said you think Ridley did it,” Mark said. “But who else do you wonder about? Who keeps you awake?”

Diane swirled her beer — it was still her first, the second one was warming beside it, untouched — and considered the question. “Who keeps me awake,” she said. “I like that. Yes. Excellent. That’s just the right question.”

Mark waited.

“Evan Borders,” Diane said. “He was the flavor of the week before Barnes.”

“What was your take on Borders? Obvious suspect, being the one who took her down to the cave, but is there more to it?”