“You think?”
“Yes, John. Based on what you’ve told me, you’re her person. When she’s falling apart, she turns to you for restoration. That should make you feel good.”
“It does.” He paused before adding, “Even if her timing last night was lousy.” He cast her a meaningful look.
She smiled shyly. “It was rather lousy.”
“Probably for the best, though,” he said, returning his eyes to the road. “I may have had more than a splash of bourbon in my float.”
“Oh. So you were looking at me through whiskey goggles.”
“You looked damned good. Felt even better.” He braked for a traffic light and turned his head toward her. “Only a distress call from my daughter could have made me stop.”
“Not true. I could have stopped you.”
“Would you have?”
“Not in a million,” she whispered.
His cock didn’t get the message that now wasn’t the time to act on the invitation behind the sultry look she was giving him. “Fair warning, Beth. I won’t forget you said that.” He reached across the console and placed his hand high on her thigh. “In the meantime, thanks for putting up with the Bowie family drama.”
“You’re welcome.” She spoke softly, and they continued looking at each other until the light turned green.
When they were moving again, she said, “While waiting for you I made some calls. One was to my landlord to ask if the leaky faucet in my bathroom had been seen to. I also called Victor Wallace, the sociology professor. I obtained his number through the college office. The words Crisis Point are as good as ‘open sesame.’”
“Or ‘police officer.’” She smiled, and he asked, “Was the professor open to talking to you?”
She laughed. “Yes. He wanted to know if our interview would be on TV. I had to let him down gently. He was on his way to class and couldn’t talk then. We scheduled a Zoom for later this afternoon.”
“Progress,” he said.
“Then why are you frowning?”
“It’s happening too damn slow.”
Just then, a phone rang. He had a collection of burners in a ziplock bag in the floorboard. He fished around in it until he found the one ringing. It was one of the police officers working with him in secret. He answered quickly. “I’m here.”
“Barker issued a warrant for your arrest. He and the ogre also had a closed-door meeting. Ogre left it licking his chops. Watch your back.”
“Thanks. Don’t use this number again. I’ll call you on another.”
He disconnected and said to Beth, “Never a dull moment.”
Chapter 20
He drove down the road that was so familiar to him now he knew where to swerve to avoid the deeper potholes. Inside this natural tunnel formed by trees whose branches meshed above the road, there was only dusky light. The heavens stubbornly refused to clear.
But there would be no rain or clouds on Thursday night. He was certain of it. Everything would be perfect this time.
Crissy Mellin, her burnished-gold hair notwithstanding, hadn’t been right. It was as simple as that. He felt nothing except a powerful disdain for the young woman who had ruined the ceremony for him.
He did, however, experience an occasional twinge of remorse over the young man the police had blamed for her abduction. News of his suicide had been upsetting to him.
Why, though, should it have disturbed him? He’d had nothing to do with it. The police had made a terrible mistake, but Fate had also had a hand in it. As unfortunate as the circumstances had been, Billy Oliver was predestined to die in that jail cell.
Nevertheless, it was a mystery to him why Oliver had confessed to a crime he didn’t commit. He’d been shocked to learn that. The why of it was befuddling. But if there were an explanation, it wouldn’t be a mystery, would it?
Having now reached his destination, he shook off his reflective mood and resolved to think only forward. No more dwelling on what had been, but what would be. His heart kicked up its pace as he got out of his car.
The padlock he’d installed was much too fancy for the building, but it was advertised as the best. He punched in the code, heard the reassuring clink of metal within the mechanism, and pushed open the door. The hinges were well lubricated and didn’t squeak at all.
He switched on the light, a ceiling fixture enclosed in a wire cage, like the ones used in gymnasiums. Unattractive but serviceable, it filled the open space with glaring light. He’d learned from last time that he required more wattage than he’d had. Brighter light didn’t create as pleasing an ambiance for such a sacred ritual, but it was more practical, and this time he had to think less aesthetically and more practically.
He regretted that the setting wasn’t more like a temple with a row of fluted columns along each side and an altar draped in embroidered silk. His altar was a handmade workbench constructed of unvarnished wood. He’d bought it at a junkyard, paying in cash to a man tossing chicken feed into a henhouse.
He fantasized walls covered in opalescent tiles rather than corrugated tin that was pocked with dents. To help alleviate the ugliness, he’d thought about taping up posters with celestial themes, but purchasing anything even marginally connected to the ritual was risky. The smallest thing could get him caught. The walls remained unadorned.
Nor were they soundproofed, which was a concern, although there was very little chance of being discovered by making noise. There was no one within at least a mile of here.
He’d stumbled upon the building purely by chance one day when he was out for a drive and took a wrong turn. It was set well back from a narrow dirt road that was traveled only by someone who was lost, as he’d been.
The track leading from the road to the building was overgrown. Weeds and underbrush grew halfway up the exterior walls. A thick, leafy vine, hanging from a live oak tree, draped the side of the building most visible from the road, providing a natural camouflage.
After discovering the structure, he’d returned to it often. Eventually he’d determined that it was ideal for his purpose. Clearly it hadn’t been used for years. A place didn’t become this derelict unless it had been abandoned by an owner with no plan to return. He’d simply claimed it, and no one had ever challenged him.
The interior was fifteen by twenty feet. In one corner was a deep utility sink. A mop and containers of bleach and other industrial-strength cleaning agents were within easy reach, as was a box of latex gloves. One couldn’t have too many.