skin trying to claw her way out of some dark and lonely place. Nothing yet tied him to the other victims, but there was little doubt, official or otherwise. Liz lost sleep, at times, thinking she should go back and fill in the blanks. But, nights like that were growing less frequent. What further insight could she offer? The victims would be just as gone. Their families would have the same person to blame.
Besides, her father was dead.
The story of the warden and his corrupt guards was the one that lingered. The fury over why they were dead in the church soon gave way to larger questions. What were they doing there? Why did they die? An old man came forward a few days later, an ex-con with an almost unbelievable story of how he’d been tortured, once, and how others had died hard deaths in the warden’s care. He was not the most credible person, though, and the story almost ended with him. But, two more convicts came forward, then a guard who’d seen things he should have talked about sooner. That was the crack that blew the story wide open.
Torture. Murder.
The attorney general had ordered a full review.
Charges still stood against Adrian, and he’d go down if the authorities ever found him. They stood against Liz, too, but no one was looking for her, and she had no plans to make a life anywhere but the desert. She liked the heat of it, she said, its emptiness and unchanging nature. Plus, Channing and Adrian were in the desert. No one said it out loud, but the words hung like a shimmer far out on the valley floor.
Family.
Future.
Adrian stood and leaned against the rail. He wanted her to see his face, so she’d think about it as she drove. “Will you be okay if he says no?”
“Gideon?” The look in her eyes was gentle, the smile easy and slow. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”
* * *
Elizabeth took the truck and drove ten-hour stretches. Sunglasses covered her eyes. A white Stetson rode her head. She stayed in inexpensive motels, though money was not a problem. On the eighth hour of the third day, she crossed the county line and was back. Nothing had changed, but an ill wind pressed against her as if she were somehow different and every living creature in the county sensed it.
She drove the side streets, then went to her mother’s house, stopping first at the boarded-up church. The clapboards were dirty and peeling. Windows were broken, and someone had used black paint on the walls, spelling words such as killer and sinner and devil. Circling to the back, she found the parsonage little different than the church. Shattered glass. The same paint. The door was locked, but she took the tire iron from the truck and forced it. Inside, she found bare floors and dust and difficult memories. She stood for a while at the kitchen window, thinking of the last time she’d had a drink there with her mother. Had she known, then, the depth of her husband’s evil? Had she ever sensed it? Elizabeth wanted an answer and found it on the mantelpiece above the small fireplace in the empty living room. The envelope was yellowed and dry. The name Elizabeth was written in her mother’s hand.
Liz, my darling girl. I can’t imagine a daughter’s pain in learning such darkness dwelled in her father’s heart, or in knowing the death and suffering he’d caused so many for so many years. Please know I share your bewilderment. Your letters have been so helpful—life-affirming, actually—and it pains me that you live in some secret place to which I can neither respond, nor seek you out. I’ve never doubted your assurances, the promise that we would once again be together. But I can no longer live in this place. The hatred of your father overwhelms me, and I find myself bereft. I leave this letter in hopes you’ll discover it when you deem it safe, at last, to return. I’ve gone to stay with my old friend in the north. You’ve met her, the one from college. I won’t leave her name or address for obvious reasons, but trust you will seek me out, in time. I miss you so much, my lovely child. Please do not let this path lead you to self-doubt or your own dark place. Be strong and of good heart. I wait for you in patience and in love,