Brian Freeman - Spilled Blood

Altman shrugged. ‘This is your party.’

‘Is it? A few minutes ago, I was spouting conspiracy theories. Now you’re pumping me for information. I’d like to know why.’

The county attorney fingered his coffee mug. ‘First answer another question for me, and then we’ll see. This reliable source of yours, did he mention anything about this man who calls himself Aquarius?’

‘No.’

‘Ashlynn said nothing to him about Aquarius?’

‘Not that I know of. I think he would have mentioned it.’ Chris studied Altman with suspicion. ‘Why? Did you discover evidence that Aquarius might have been involved in Ashlynn’s death?’

‘We’ve found nothing like that.’

‘Then why bring him up?’

Altman’s face was pained. ‘Aquarius is a separate investigation, Mr. Hawk. I’m afraid I can’t share any information with you.’

‘It was separate. Now I’m not so sure. If you have any reason to believe there’s a connection between Ashlynn and Aquarius, you owe me the truth about it.’ Chris frowned, and suddenly he understood. Suddenly it made sense. ‘You think Aquarius may be Vernon Clay, don’t you? You found something to tie them together. That’s what this is about.’

The county attorney gave a tiny sigh, as if he knew he couldn’t stay silent. ‘All I can tell you, Mr. Hawk, is that we’ll know soon enough if that’s true.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Aquarius,’ Altman said. ‘We’ve found him.’

34

The respite was over. The rain came again.

Chris listened to the splash of the wet streets under his tires as he drove north. The downpour sent everyone in downtown Barron inside, leaving the sidewalks deserted. It was as dark at noon as it would have been at dusk. He stopped at a red light, and sheets of water pelted his windshield like machine-gun fire. He could see gray waves blowing from west to east, pebbling the dark surface of the river.

The parking lot of the Riverside Motel was a lake. He stopped in front of his corner room, where a waterfall spilled from the overflowing gutters. Getting out, he landed his feet in a deep puddle, soaking through his socks. He unlocked the door and went inside. Rain thundered in a drumbeat on the roof. He didn’t have much to pack. In two minutes, he threw what he had inside his suitcase, returned to his Lexus and dumped the bag inside his trunk.

He kicked through standing water to the motel office and found Marco Piva in a flimsy folding chair under a large vinyl picnic umbrella, a beer bottle in his hand, as if it were a summer Sunday. He wore a white underwear shirt, and his thick black chest hair curled over the V-neck. His heavy arms bulged out of the sleeves. His corduroys were tan, and his socks were white, and he wore Nikes. He had a paper napkin spread out on his lap, and he was eating a capicola sandwich.

Marco held up his beer bottle, saluting him. ‘Mr. Hawk. Join me, please.’

Chris ducked under the shower of rain falling from the edges of the umbrella. ‘It’s not much of a day for a picnic, Marco.’

The squat motel owner waved his hand dismissively. His skin was damp, and his wiry salt-and-pepper hair was wet. ‘Rain is nothing. I love the rain. This is a gorgeous day.’

‘If you say so.’ He pointed at an empty chair next to Marco. ‘Are you expecting someone?’

Marco shrugged. ‘You.’

‘How did you know I was coming?’

‘I didn’t, but here you are. My wife always used to set an extra place at our dinner table, just in case someone showed up. She did that every night of the week for more than thirty years.’

‘How often did someone arrive?’ Chris asked.

‘Not once!’ Marco chortled.

Chris sat down on the rickety folding chair. Marco reached into a cooler of ice and offered him a dripping beer, but Chris shook his head. ‘Too early for me,’ he said.

‘How about half a sandwich? This is my favorite meal. I ship in my sausage from Chiaramonte’s. Some things in life I refuse to do without.’

‘It smells amazing, but no thanks.’

Marco took a large mouthful of his sandwich. The crusty bread made a loud crunch as he bit into it. A dollop of brown mustard leaked out the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it up with his finger.

‘I saw you packing your bag,’ he said.

‘Are you leaving me?’

‘That’s right.’ Chris handed him his motel key, and Marco shoved it into a pocket. ‘My ex-wife and I decided it would be easier if I stayed at her place. That way I can be close to Olivia.’

Marco winked, and his jowly face brightened. ‘Close to your wife, too, eh?’

‘I think she wants to be friends again. I’m not sure it’s anything more than that.’

‘You sound like you’d like it to be something more,’ he said.

‘In a perfect world, sure.’

‘Who says anything has to be perfect?’ Marco asked. ‘God screwed up the world the first time, didn’t he? You screw up, you try again. I’d love to have one more fight with my wife, just so we could make up.’

‘I thought you were soul mates,’ Chris said, smiling.

‘Oh, lovers argue better than anyone else, you know that. I’d scream at her that she worked too hard, she traveled too much. She’d scream at me that she hated what I did, she hated the risks. Then we’d drink wine and have sex.’

‘That does sound perfect.’

‘See? You’re a smart man, Mr. Hawk. Of course, the key to a happy marriage is to marry a woman who’s much smarter than you are. Fortunately for us men, that’s easy to do.’

Chris laughed. ‘True.’

‘Why did you and your wife split up? You sound like a love match. I hope you didn’t cheat on her.’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘I didn’t think so. You strike me as a man of honor, Mr. Hawk.’ He added, ‘So what was it between you?’

‘If you ask Hannah, she’d say I forgot my priorities.’

‘Is that true?’

Chris watched the rain, and he acknowledged the reality for the first time. ‘Yes, I guess it is.’

‘Then change them.’

‘I’m here,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure it’s enough.’

‘Well, what are you willing to give up to get her back? Have you asked yourself that?’

‘Three years ago, I didn’t see why I should give up anything at all,’ he said.

‘And now?’

‘Now, I think I’d give up just about everything to have what we had.’

Marco calmly ate his sandwich and swallowed down his beer. ‘Sometimes that’s what it takes. Of course, the past is long gone. You can only build something different. Life changes, my friend.’

‘Are you a motel owner, or are you a marriage counselor?’ Chris asked, smiling.

‘I’m just a busybody,’ Marco said, his mouth full. ‘My wife isn’t around to offer advice, so I have to fill in for her.’ When he swallowed, his face grew serious, and he reached out with a fist and thumped it on Chris’s knee. ‘Me, I would give up everything, too, if I could have my wife back. I don’t have that choice, Mr. Hawk, but you do. Grab it.’

‘It’s her choice, not mine.’

‘Or maybe she’s waiting for you to reach out to her. Someone has to extend a hand, you know?’

Chris stood up. The rain was as strong as ever. Even in the mild air, he felt a chill. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘Do that.’

‘It’s been a pleasure, Marco, but I have to go.’ Chris shook hands with the older man. ‘I know where to come if I need advice.’

‘Truly, the pleasure has been mine, Mr. Hawk. I wish you good luck in all things.’ Marco held the handshake without letting go and added in a dark voice, ‘Speaking of choices, I assume you did not burden yourself with revenge against those who harmed your daughter.’