the blood go to her head with a deep thump of pain. “Maybe I’ll have some of that water now.” She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead.
“I shouldn’t have let you drink all that wine. Did you eat anything?”
She couldn’t remember. “Yes,” she said.
Katie got up and Audrey turned her father’s watch on her wrist. It was just nine o’clock. The second hand seemed connected to the pulse in her head.
Katie came back with two aspirins and a large glass of water and sat as before and watched as Audrey took the pills and drank down half the glass.
“Do you feel sick?”
“No, I just feel like . . . like I don’t know where I am.”
“You’re here, with me, in my apartment. You wanted to talk to me.”
“Yes. I just don’t know where to begin.”
“How about why.”
“Why?”
“Why me.”
Audrey shook her head. “I don’t know. I mean—I was just trying to figure something out about something. About someone.”
“Who?”
“A man named Ed Moran.”
Katie stared at her. Just stared, no expression. Then she picked up the wine bottle and refilled her own glass and set the bottle down again.
“Do you know him?” Audrey said.
“I know he used to be a sheriff’s deputy down there.”
“He’s a sheriff now, down in Iowa.”
“Lucky Iowa.”
“Why do you say that?”
She shrugged. “Smart-ass reflex. So what about him?”
“He’s investigating my case. Mine and Caroline’s.”
Katie nodded slowly, recalling. “There was a second car, they said. Did they ever find it?”
“No. Or those two boys either.” She didn’t want to go into what her father had done. Or Moran’s photo line-up.
“Two boys?” said Katie.
“From the gas station.”
Katie shook her head and Audrey said, “The ones who tried to—who grabbed me?”
Katie stared at her. “I don’t remember anything about two boys.”
“Young men, actually.”
Katie was silent. Then she said, “What did they do?”
“Nothing. Caroline got them with the pepper spray. We were driving away when we went off the road.”
“And was it them, those two pieces of shit, who pushed you over the bank?”
“I don’t know. We could only see the headlights.”
“Jesus,” Katie said. Then she said, “All right. So what has this got to do with me?”
“I don’t know. This person I know . . . this woman who worked for my father—”
“Your father the sheriff.”
“Ex-sheriff, yes. She gave me your name.”
“Gloria Walsh.”
Audrey opened her mouth, and closed it.
“I went to school with her daughter,” Katie said, answering the question Audrey had not asked. “Does she still work for the sheriff?”
“Yes. I went to talk to him, the sheriff, but it was her—Gloria—who gave me your name.”
“And why did you go talk to the sheriff, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Because of Danny Young.”
“Danny Young—?” Her eyes grew large, and Audrey thought she was about to stand up, but she only shifted in place and tossed her free arm over the back of the loveseat.
“You and he . . .” Audrey said.
“Yes,” said Katie. “About a million years ago. He was my brother’s best friend. A year older than me. How do you know him?”
“I don’t. I only know him through my dad. Through the Holly Burke case.”
“Holly Burke. God, there’s another name I haven’t heard in forever.”
“Did you know her?”
“I knew her. We weren’t exactly friends.”
“You weren’t?”
“No. Most of her friends were boys. Or men. She was known as bad news, generally.”
Audrey thought of Gordon Burke, his good old face and his big hands and his kindness to her, his gentleness when she was sick.
She said, “I’ve gotten to know her father a little bit since I’ve been home. Mr. Burke.”
“Oh God, that poor man. I thought he’d moved away.”
“No, he’s still there. And so a few days ago Danny Young came out to Mr. Burke’s house, and—”
“Wait.” Katie raised her hand. “Danny Young went to Gordon Burke’s house?”
“Yes.”
She sipped her wine. “All right. I’m just going to shut up now and listen. Go on.”
And Audrey went on, telling her all that she herself had learned in the last two days, and when she was finished Katie sat looking at her.
“You sound like that TV show, Audrey.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” She took another sip of her wine, and Audrey drank her water.
“So, what are you telling me here? That Deputy Moran had that torn pocket?”
“Yes. I mean, according to Danny Young.”
“And he pulled Danny over so he could plant it on his truck, and then he just—let him go . . . but then they never found it?”