Linwood Barclay - Broken Promise - A Thriller

“I don’t have any marshmallows,” he said apologetically. “Used to buy them once in a while, would forget I had them; I’d open up the bag and they were hard as golf balls.”

We ended up straying off topic, at least from the topic I’d come to discuss. Terrence used to own horses, and he wanted to tell me all about it. I didn’t pay much attention, but he was a nice man, and the time passed pleasantly.

I thanked him for the hot chocolate and the conversation, and as I was heading back to the Taurus he said, “Davidson.”

“Sorry?”

“Davidson Place. It just came back to me. That’s where Sarita works.”

I headed back in the direction of my parents’ house, not sure I really knew anything more than when I’d set off from there. At least, not anything useful. But the following morning I’d do the same again. Ask questions.

I’d go to Davidson Place. I would look for Sarita.

I didn’t drive straight home. Made a couple of turns along the way that took me into a neighborhood I’d visited earlier in the day.

I pulled the car over to the curb and killed the engine. Left the key in the ignition. Sat behind the wheel, watching a house. There were no lights on.

Probably everyone had gone to bed.

Carl, as well as his mother, Samantha.

I stared at the house for about a minute, feeling hungry all over, before I turned the key and continued on my way.

The naked woman was sitting on the edge of the bed, weeping.

The man who remained under the covers on the other side of the bed stirred, rolled over. He reached out and touched the tips of his fingers to the woman’s back.

“Hey, babe,” he said.

She continued to cry. Her face was in her hands, her elbows on her knees.

The man threw off the covers and huddled behind her on the mattress, on his knees, pressed his naked body up against hers and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“How can it be okay?” she asked. “How can it ever be okay?”

“It just... I don’t know. But we’ll find a way.”

She shook her head and sobbed. “They’ll find me, Marshall. I know they’ll find me.”

“I’m going to look after you,” he said comfortingly. “I will. I’ll keep them from finding you.”

She broke free of him and walked to the bathroom of his small apartment, closed the door. He put his ear to it, said, “You okay in there, Sarita?”

“Yes,” she said. “I just need a minute.”

Marshall stood outside the door, wondering what he should do. He looked about his place, which consisted of a single room, not counting the bathroom. A small fridge, hot plate, and sink over in one corner, a bed, a couple of cushioned chairs he’d scored on junk day when people were putting things out on the street.

A toilet flushed, a tap ran, and then the door opened. Sarita stood in front of him, head down, and said, “I’m going to have to go home. I’m going to have to go back to Monclova.”

“No, you’re not going back to Mexico,” he said, taking her into his arms again. “You’ve got a life here. You’ve got me.”

“No, I have no life here. I go home, or I just disappear somewhere, get a job, start doing the whole thing all over again.” She sniffed. “I need to make a living. I have people counting on me. I can make more money here.”

“I can lend you some,” he said. “Shit, I can give you some money. I don’t have a lot, but I got two, three hundred I could give you.”

Sarita laughed. “Seriously? How long would that last me?”

“I know, I know. It’s not like I’m a fucking millionaire, you know? But now that you mention money, I was kind of thinking about something in the night.”

She pushed past him and found her underwear on the floor at the foot of the bed. She stepped into her panties, then slipped on her bra while Marshall stood and watched her.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to know,” Sarita said.

“Come on, you have to at least hear me out. It could be the answer to your problems. For both of us, really. If you need to get away, that’s cool; I get that. But I could come with you.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Come on,” he said. “We’re in this together.”

“No,” Sarita said. “We’re not . You haven’t done anything wrong. Except for hiding me. When they find out you’ve been keeping me here, you could be in all kinds of trouble, and not just because I’m not supposed to be here.”

She pulled on her jeans, then put on a blouse and began to button it up. Marshall glanced around, saw his boxers on the floor, and stepped into them. “I’m gonna call in sick,” he said. “We’ll figure out something.”

He picked up a cell phone on his side of the bed. “Yeah, hey, Manny, I’ve got some kind of bug, been puking my guts up all night. Can’t afford to give something like that to the geezers. Yeah, okay, thanks.”

He put the phone back down.

“That’s disrespectful,” Sarita said. “They’re nice old people.”

“I don’t mean anything by it,” he said. “Anyway, I don’t have to go in. So now we can talk about my idea.”

She shook her head. “My only idea is to get as far away from here as fast as I can. Maybe you could drive me to Albany or something? And then I can catch a train.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“New York? I got a cousin there. I just have to find her.”

“Sit down,” he said.

“I don’t—”

“Just sit down and hear me out, okay?”

She dropped onto the end of the bed and looked up at him. “What?”

“There’s stuff this Gaynor guy isn’t going to want to come out, right?”

“Maybe it’s already out there,” she said.

“Yeah, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s not going to come out. Maybe they’ll pin his wife’s murder on someone right away and they won’t find out about the other stuff. You put in a call; you tell him you can keep that from ever happening. For, you know, a price.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Sarita said. “It’s all going to come out.”

“’Cause of what you did,” Marshall said. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I had to do it,” she said.

“But maybe it won’t matter. Maybe it won’t come out.”

“You’re crazy,” she said. “I have to get out of here. You think the police aren’t looking for me? I guarantee it.”

“You won’t be easy to find. How do they trace you? You got no phone, no license, no credit cards. You’ve bailed from your apartment. You’re, like, totally off the grid. It’s like you don’t even exist.” He smiled, tickled the underside of her chin with his index finger. She turned her head away. “Come on; it’s like you’re a spy or something.”

“I am no spy. I feed old people and babies and then clean up their piss and shit. That’s what I do.”

“Okay, okay,” he said. “Listen, you hide out here while I go empty out what I got at the ATM. You take it, get on a train to New York. But you have to promise you’ll get in touch when you get there. I need to know you’re okay. I love you. You know that, right? I love you more than anything in the whole world.”

Sarita was tearing up again. She put her hands over her face.

“I can’t get it out of my mind,” she said.

Marshall hugged her again. “I know, I know.”

“Seeing Ms. Gaynor like that. It was so awful, how she looked.”

“I’m tellin’ ya,” he said. “It’s an opportunity. He’s got money. Fancy house, nice car. Guy like that has to have money. I mean, shit, you worked for them. You ever see financial statements, that kind of thing?”