"Take it away."

He reseated himself and waited for her to get back into the rhythm of telling her story. It only took a minute.

"But Daniel couldn't control himself. His gambling grew worse. He couldn't stay away from the casinos. He played poker with strangers. No matter how much he had, he always owed more. He got into trouble. He was beaten once, not so badly. Then he was beaten again, much worse." She started speaking in speedy, clipped sentences devoid of any emotion, exactly as her brother had done. "Men were going to kill him. I begged my parents for money and they refused. Yes, they refused me. I knew my brother would deny me as well. Daniel couldn't hold off those brutes any longer. So you know what they did? I'll tell you. They tied him to the b.u.mper of his pickup truck and drove it into a cement retaining wall. They crushed his right leg. The doctors had to amputate. He told the police nothing. I cared for him as best I could after that, while he recuperated, playing cards on his hospital bed. But all that mattered was money then. Every knock on the door, every phone call. Everything had become about money, no longer merely the thrill. There was nothing else."

He didn't want to tell her that it was that way for most people all of the time, so he just nodded.

"And still he owed the men who had taken his leg. That wasn't payment. I thought it would be enough payment in itself, the taking of his leg, but no, I was wrong. It didn't count, you see? It didn't cover a dime of debt, his blood and muscle and bone. His becoming a cripple. He still owed."

That was standard too. You didn't let the guy off after you broke his arm, cut off his thumb, or burned his house down. That was just the interest, you still had to pay the princ.i.p.al.

"What was his game at the casino? c.r.a.ps?"

"Blackjack and roulette."

Daniel Purvis really was a sucker.

"So let me guess," Crease said. "He was in a fifteen thousand dollar hole."

"Ten."

That surprised Crease. Ten g's usually wasn't enough to get the legbreakers out breaking legs. Then again, in Vermont, who knew. It was a spooky place compared to New York.

It also proved that Sarah Burke wasn't just trying to get the beau out of debt. She'd gotten greedy along the way. Another five grand to give them a head start someplace else, and her brother paying for it. Or maybe it was a show of love to Purvis, giving him the extra five g's as a gift. An extra pop to the addict, fill him full of bliss.

The rest of the house was silent now. Moonlight slashed into the room through the two inches of window pane Crease had uncovered when pulling up the shade. The slice of silver collapsed across the feeble, diseased yellow of the lamp. Shadows clung to the woman like cobwebs.

They sat there like that for a while, facing each other with their separate burdens which had somehow overlapped. Crease knew she was working up to it, to the act that had put her here as an escape from herself.

The mattress was soft and smelled faintly of some kind of citrus detergent, reminding him of Reb's bed.

"It was Daniel's idea," Sarah Burke said. "And of course I didn't argue. I didn't mind, not really. I hated my brother too much by then. I didn't put up any kind of resistance. The suggestion made sense, and even if it hadn't, I wouldn't have cared. I'd have done anything for him. That's the truth of love." She shifted in her seat and her bones rubbed against each other inside her like dry kindling. Crease had seen crack addicts under piles of garbage who looked healthier. He wondered how much longer she could possibly live. "How did it go down?"

"As easy as warm apple pie. I gathered Mary up in my arms, and Daniel called my brother Sam and demanded the ransom. Fifteen thousand dollars. I knew he had it on hand, in the bank if not in his store safe. I never thought he would call the police and endanger her that way. I thought he would follow our simple set of rules. In fact, at the time, I believed he'd know right off that it was me, and finally realize how much Daniel meant to me. You see, I thought he would give me the money out of understanding and kindness. That he would finally acknowledge how much I loved Daniel. That he would give it to us as a favor. A wedding gift. Mary hardly entered the matter at all. I cared deeply for her, or thought I did, up until that point, you see?"

Crease didn't. He couldn't. He had never loved anyone the way Sarah Burke had loved the one-legged gambler Purvis. Maybe his father. He'd been willing to give up a lot of his life to his father, but only because he hadn't known what else he could possibly do.

"And then?" he urged.

Sarah began to coil again. Her fingers tightened on the arms of the chair, the tiny legs started swinging once more. They were getting down to it now, to the real venom. He knew that in a very real way he was finishing her off.

"And then?" he repeated.

"And then came the part you're most eager to hear about, thirteen," she said. "Daniel and I wanted to trade her back for the money up at the old sawmill. It was the perfect setting, no one could possibly sneak up on us there. They were morons to try. My tightwad brother cared more for his money than his daughter, and far more than me. He called the sheriff. He sent that drunk, stumbling thief of a sheriff after us and we were all doomed after that. All of us."

Crease said, "It was your fault it went down the way it did. Purvis didn't call your brother soon enough after the s.n.a.t.c.h. They didn't know it was a s.n.a.t.c.h at first. They thought she might've just wandered away. That's why Sam called the sheriff. He was there when Purvis finally phoned. Your brother couldn't play it any other way, he had to work with the police. You botched it from the go."

Another pregnant pause in the room of the needy. Maybe he should check in next door for a while, catch up on his cool, be the thirteen. n.o.body even came around to make sure the loonies were tucked into bed.

Sarah Burke's mouth opened and her tongue slid out like a leech. She had spent seventeen years trying to soothe her guilt with the idea that her crime of pa.s.sion had made it worthwhile. There was enough blame to go around. The bent sheriff, her spiteful brother. She didn't like hearing that Purvis had screwed the pooch from the start. Six-year-old Mary Burke had never stood a chance.

"How do you know so much?" she asked.

"A Ouija board told me. You and Purvis took Mary to the mill together?"

"Yes, we were there, the three of us. We thought-I thought-that my brother would arrive and drop off the money and I would push Mary out to him. He would look in my face and see my love for Daniel and he would leave the ransom behind and go home. I would leave with Daniel and never see either of them again. That's why I kept telling Mary that I loved her and she should always hold in her heart, forever and ever, that Aunt Sarah loved her. I told her that even when she was much older she could always rely on it, you see? That Aunt Sarah was thinking of her, that she would always love her Mary."

Crease reached down and grabbed the side of the box spring, and his grip tightened until the material began to rip and the springs inside squealed. Sarah looked at him and said, "Are you sick?"

"Yes, I'm sick."

"Me too, thirteen. I have some pills here. Would you like some?"

"No," Crease said.

"Good, they're poison. For me anyway. They're killing me. I'm allergic but they keep giving them to me and I keep taking them. It will make things easier in the end for everyone."

He shut his eyes and released the mattress, took a few deep breaths until the fever began to pa.s.s. "You were waiting at the mill. You saw the sheriff pull up."

"Of course. He parked over the ridge but he was heavy-footed. He couldn't hear himself, how loud he was."

No, Crease thought, because the first thing that goes when you're drunk is the hearing.

"What did you and Purvis do then?"

"We left," she said.

"What?"

Her gaze locked with Crease's and she nodded. "That's right, I pushed Mary forward and told her to go see the nice policeman. Daniel said he spotted someone else in the woods, and we left. There are logger trails criss-crossing the entire hill. We drove away on one of them."

"Without the money? You couldn't have walked away from it that easily."

"But we did," Sarah Burke said. "I didn't want my niece to be hurt, and I couldn't afford to lose Daniel, not under any circ.u.mstances. As I said, this wasn't a kidnapping. I didn't want ransom. I wanted a gift. A gift from my brother. When I realized I was to be denied, we left."

"Where did you set her free in the mill? The far side? The north side?"

"Yes, that's right."

Way on the opposite end of the factory. His father should've seen a little girl walking up on him, at that point. But he was there for at least five hours before he noticed she was there, and when he did, he shot her.

Crease tried to see it from different angles. Maybe Mary fell asleep and only awoke at sunset, when Edwards started his move on the mill. But no, it made no sense. Could she have tried to follow after Sarah and Purvis after they left? Wandered around in the woods, lost for hours, before she found herself back at the mill? Just in time to snuff it. Too big a coincidence. It didn't really play.

He eyed Sarah Burke. She wasn't lying.

"Daniel drove me into town. He let me off in front of my brother's store, and then he just kept driving. I never saw him again. Perhaps he was only using me to get money. Or to have someone to care for him, at least for a while. Maybe he had grown tired of me. I realized that was possible from the start. Perhaps he did it to protect me from the men who would soon be coming for him. But it-"

"It didn't matter," Crease said. "You didn't care."

"I didn't care, it didn't matter. Nothing did. Surely you see that."

He shook his head, kind of sadly, the way he did when he saw somebody about to do something stupid during a deal. Some idiot reaching for a gun, Tucco moving, Crease raising his .38, shaking his head.

"Not even the consequences," Sarah Burke said. "I understood what they would be. Even if we'd gotten the money and run away together, sooner or later he would've abandoned me. I'd have nowhere to go but home again to my brother's house. And then I'd go to jail."

"The police never questioned you?"

"Of course they did," she told him, "but Sam covered for me. You see, he knows I did it. He's always known, although he can't admit it to himself. That's why Vera left him. That's why he's so mincing and clean and proper. He can't relax. He can't let go. If he does, even for an instant, in any way, he'll vanish. That's what he says."

"Yes."

"That's what he's most afraid of-disappearing, the same way Mary did. The truth would destroy him. It may still." She let out a rictus smile that was no lip and all teeth. "As I've vanished. I suppose in my heart I always knew I'd wind up here or a place like it. There's no bars on the windows but I'm trapped. I dwindle. Where can I go? Where could I ever possibly go? I live in expectation. Every morning, every night, I fully expect him to walk through that door and kill me. I dream of it. I hope for it, you see. He thinks vanishing is a torture. For me, it would be a blessing. A G.o.dsend. Is that why you're here, thirteen? Did G.o.d send you after me?"

"No."

"Are you sure you won't share my poisonous pills?" she asked.

"No," he said, and started for the door, "you keep them all."

Chapter Twelve.

The rearview drew his eyes. The sense that someone was following him, or worse, hiding in the back seat, was overwhelming. Was it his old man, sitting there with a pint in his hand, vomit crusted on his shirt front? His father sobbing, wishing he had another chance to do things right, or maybe just to steal a little more. Crease couldn't tell.

Over the miles, the presence became much stronger. Maybe Mary, trying to tell him what a waste it had all been? He knew who'd killed her. He knew why it had happened. All that was left was finding the cash, and a dead girl wouldn't care about that.

Teddy on her lap, her small hands petting the bear, hugging it tight. What he'd done so far, what was the point of any of it?

Maybe it was Mimi's lost husband, longsh.o.r.eman Lenny back there, who took off after the fourth or fifth kid, urging Crease to just cut loose and keep running. Skip out while he still could.

Man, when you didn't have your cool left you really had nothing at all.

Halfway to Hangtree, the window down and the breeze coursing through the car, rushing against him even as his forehead burned and the windshield fogged, he felt a wistful ache. It took him a minute to recognize the emotion for what it was. He wanted to check on Joan and Stevie.

He hit a cheap motel along the highway, paid for the night, showered, settled in, and reached for the phone. It was almost midnight. Joan would be sleeping but she wouldn't be angry if he woke her. He wondered if there was anything he could do to make her furious. And if so-if he had found whatever it was in time-if it would've somehow saved their marriage.

He called Joan. He wanted to hear her voice. Even if he didn't feel like saying much, she'd understand and do all the talking, trying to soothe him about things she didn't understand. When you got down to it, that's probably why his son hated him so much. Not for what Crease had done to Stevie, but what he'd done to the boy's mother. The kid had real pride and felt as great a sense of responsibility to protect her as Crease had felt about his father.

Instead, Mimi answered. "h.e.l.lo, who's that?"

"Mimi, what are you doing there?"

"Your back screen door has slipped out of the track. I tried to get it back in but it won't go, it's bent. You'll have to fix that. I don't want Freddy getting out. Your side gate doesn't close either, the little thing, what do you call it, the latch, you have to jiggle it so it'll lock, except it doesn't work."

Crease tried to remember if Freddy was the kid with the beady eyes, or if it was the dog. He said, "But why are you there?"

"I can't visit my sister?"

"You never visit your sister.""I could if I wanted to, though. Anyway, my oven broke. I'm afraid of a gas leak, so I packed the kids in the car and brought them over here."

He pictured her house. "Mimi, you've got an electric stove."

"What?"

"You have an electric stove, didn't you realize that?"

"How do you know? All of a sudden you're a mister fix-it, you've got plumbing skills, you're a carpenter? You haven't even fixed your side gate or the screen door."

"Your stove is electric. The coils turn red when they get hot. Somebody probably just knocked the plug out."

"Yeah, and what if you're wrong? We could all suffocate in our sleep. The gas company's there right now, checking it out. The only time they show up is when you tell them there's a leak, then they come, even if it's eleven o'clock at night."

He wasn't sure if Mimi was starting to become a serious attention-getter or if all the kids were driving her blood pressure up high enough to bake her brain. He'd seen it happen to guys on the force. Sharp, first-rate cops who, after having two or three children in short order, started falling asleep on the job, couldn't remember the call numbers, started cleaning their guns without checking to see if they were loaded.

The tiny details, the proliferation of minor annoyances, those were the ones that clogged your arteries and got you in the end. He still didn't know if her brood helped put things into perspective or just knocked them farther out of whack. He'd always fully expected to sit down one day and make a concerted effort to figure it out.

"Put Joan on," he said.

"She had to go talk to Stevie's princ.i.p.al, about the fighting. I told you."

"It's almost midnight."

"It was parent-teacher night, and then the P.T.A. had to have a special a.s.sembly about the situation, and then they have coffee and donuts. To them teachers, this is a big night out."

Crease said, "This the same thing or did he get in trouble again?"

"Again. He's shoving kids around. He knocked a girl down in the playground."

"A girl? Why?"

"He says he didn't like the way she was looking at him. She was six, he's eight. The school considers that sort of thing to be a serious matter. It doesn't take much for them to be scared about a lawsuit. A little girl gets her tooth broken or a b.l.o.o.d.y nose and you'll have a fleet of lawyers on your back. The school has a zero tolerance policy about violence. He might have to transfer." Mimi had shifted gears, she was sharp again, in a.s.skicking mode.

"All kids get into fights."

"He's big for his age and knocking the c.r.a.p out of six-year-old girls doesn't endear him to the faculty, you know? This is the age of Columbine. What do you think, Crease? You think maybe he's got some problems that need to be worked out?"

"Everyone does."

"Don't get flippant. Not when it comes to your own son."

"You're right, I shouldn't be. I'm sorry. I wanted to speak with him."