“I wish I had my camera.”
“We’ll come back,” he promised. “It keeps going. There’s another passage ahead.”
“Let’s go for it.”
His light cast back his shadow on the wall as he moved to the far end of the cavern and ducked to enter the next passage. “We’ve got our first drop.”
“How far?”
“Only about seven feet, but there’s water down below.”
She joined him, adding her light to his. It was more of a very steep slope than a dropoff. “The water is still. It could be another shallow depression.”
“Or it could be similar to a well shaft with no bottom.”
“I don’t think so. The passage takes a bend and keeps going.” She studied it; she really wanted to go see what was around that bend. “Even if the water is deep, that ledge is wide enough for two. You can go first, check it out.”
Quinn shrugged off his climbing rope and pulled on his gloves.
She knelt beside the dropoff and lit his way as he walked backward down the slope, controlling the rope to make a graceful descent.
“Okay, your turn.”
Holding the rope between her hands, playing it out slowly through the metal clip and balancing her weight, she took her time, determined to move as smoothly as Quinn. An afternoon of practice had removed the rust from her skills—she enjoyed this. She landed lightly on the ledge beside him. He steadied her with a hand on her back while she secured the rope.
“Lisa.”
Quinn’s light reflected off something in the water. It was tucked back under a rock outcrop. “I’m going to swing over to that outcrop.”
She stepped back, made sure her rope didn’t cross his. “You’re clear.” She held her light to help him out.
Quinn swung to the other side of the standing pool, caught hold of the protruding rock. Gripping it, bracing his feet against the rock wall, he eased out more rope so he could turn, reach down into the water, and pick the object up.
He aimed his light at it, then turned his light to search the water.
“What is it?”
He slipped it into his shirt pocket, buttoned it, and looked up at the rope. With a push of his foot, he swung back across to join her. She caught his arm and steadied him.
When he had his footing, he looped the rope once to secure it. “What do you make of this?” He pulled the object from his pocket.
It was a small piece of broken glass. The one side that was not jagged was a very smooth curve of thick glass. “Not something from a pair of eyeglasses, the curve is too circular, and it’s too thick.”
“A camera lens,” Quinn replied.
He was right. She turned the glass over in her hand, not able to determine a sense of age. The glass wiped clean under her finger.
She looked up at him and saw the change. The cop was back in front while he pushed his private emotions down. She knew him well enough to know those private emotions were going to overwhelm him.
“What’s up ahead?” It was time to finish this.
Quinn squeezed her hand and turned.
He led the way around the bend, had to crouch with the lower ceiling. The passage was wide but a gash had the right side of the floor dropping away, falling into a trough, water trickling through the limestone rock slide.
Quinn shone his light along the water and rocks.
“Back up. There. Pinned between the rocks.”
“I see it.”
He was just able to reach it.
It was a lens cap, a piece of black plastic. Her light picked out the impression in the plastic. “Nikon.” She rubbed the plastic with her thumb. “Quinn.”
“I know.” She heard the change in the words. He’d turned the corner, absorbed the emotion, and was taking charge. “Turn around, let’s go back to the entrance. If we’re going to systematically search this cavern and its passages, we need more people and a lot more equipment.”
Lisa let a handful of dirt trickle through her fingers. She sat beside the small fire keeping the chill away as night came.
Kate walked over from the truck to join her, knelt to warm her hands.
Lisa appreciated her sister’s silence.
They had found the truth.
It was depressing.
She was relieved it had not been Quinn who had found the remains, but rather one of the sheriff’s deputies. Amy had died like the others had, strangled, buried face down, hands bound. Her dental records would confirm identity, but it was a formality. The locket she wore on the gold chain still glistened, engraved with her name.
“Grant killed Amy.”
Lisa nodded and tossed a twig onto the fire to watch it be consumed. Grant had killed Amy. And Grant had blamed Christopher in order to manipulate Walter into helping bury her.
For twenty years Walter had fought the internal turmoil of trying to reconcile what he had done with his need to relive it. Lisa had seen too many murders not to understand that fatal attraction.
Walter had seen someone get away with murder, had seen Grant come back to Chicago and grow in power and money. And Lisa understood the impact of that. Grant had seemed invulnerable. While Walter’s life had been anything but.
Walter—the older brother who tried to make the world work, who fought to keep his brother in line, who struggled to make the nursery business succeed—had to deal with the fact his brother gambled and drank, his uncle would sell the business out from under him. He had nothing in his life except 4 A.M. mornings and work to do.
The forensic psychologist who had the job of reconstructing Walter’s motivation was puzzled by the complexity of his actions.
Lisa thought she understood the patterns. Walter had a lifelong pattern of trying to protect his brother, and in the end he had tried to frame him. It explained so much. Walter wanted out. But he had to eliminate what he was responsible for in order to get out. He couldn’t just walk away.
Walter blamed Christopher—so he would frame Christopher.
Walter saw Grant as a man who had escaped justice—so he would kill Grant’s girlfriend Rita and frame Grant.
Walter saw his uncle as betraying him—so he would murder him when there was no other way to stop him.
Walter saw her investigation as a threat—so he would burn down her house to force her away.
Walter acted to reexert control when he felt he had lost it. Walter murdered, hid the victims, and framed his brother for each one. For a moment in time Walter had had the control he wanted in life. He became the invincible one.
Kate reached over and stilled her hand. “It wasn’t something you missed.”
“Walter went to his grave taking the reasons he chose those particular women.” And she’d nearly fallen for his lies. Until the end she had thought it was Christopher. She’d liked Walter. And she hadn’t seen the other side of him.
“Let it go,” Kate said quietly. “Even if he had explained, how much of it would be the truth, how much a lie?”
“I know. It just makes me tired.”
“Walter took a lot, from Quinn in the past, from you in the present. Had he lived, it would have been hard to find sufficient justice. At least now it’s over.”
“Yes.”
The battery-powered floodlights illuminating the cave entrance were attracting swarms of flying bugs by the time the men finally emerged from the cave carrying the body bag.
The coroner’s van was opened, the body bag carefully lifted inside.
Kate went to meet Dave.
Lisa watched the men talking but chose to stay where she was. She had been in on discussions such as they were having many times in the past.
Quinn walked over to join her. He had aged during the last hours. And he had also turned the corner. The blanket of stress pressing him down for years was lifting away. In a week she bet his laughter would finally be fully alive. He crouched beside her, held out his hands to warm them.
“Her parents will be relieved to have closure,” Lisa said softly.
/> “Yes.”
The fire snapped, sending sparks into the air.
Lisa understood the silence, didn’t try to break it.
“It removes a ghost.”
Lisa nodded, appreciating the word he had chosen. She carried her ghosts. Quinn had carried his. That was what had changed. This had buried his ghost.
Quinn reached over and brushed back her hair. “Years ago, did you get to go to Andy’s funeral?”
She shook her head.
“Would you like to have a service for him?”
It was such a simple question, and yet the comfort expressed behind it was salve over deep scars. “Quinn, I would.”
“We’ll have a private memorial service for Andy and my father. Finally have closure.”
She wrapped her hand around his forearm and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Thank you.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, watching the fire.
Quinn rubbed his thumb against her chin. “You’re good for me, Lizzy.”
“I know.”
He chuckled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Humble too.”
“Somebody’s got to keep you young.” She gestured to the open land. “I like Montana. It kind of grows on you.”
“I’m glad.”
“I like your house too. Of course, that could be because I like your art collection.”
He laughed, leaned over, and kissed her. “I like a lady with good taste who also tastes good.”
“Horrible pun.”
“It got a smile.” He pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go home.”
“Sure.”
“Want to ride double?”
“On your horse?”
“I promise Thunder will be on his best behavior.”
“Quinn, he has no manners. He tried to take a nip out of my hat yesterday.”
He groaned. “He didn’t.”
She held it out. “Look at it. You can see the teeth marks.”
“Lizzy, you promised not to make a pet out of my horse.”
“What?”
“He’s falling in love with you.”
She burst out laughing at his grim pronouncement.
“I’m serious,” Quinn insisted. “What have you been feeding him?”
“I wasn’t supposed to?”
“Lizzy.”
“Sugar cubes. He likes them.”
“You’re hopeless, you know that?”
“I didn’t mean to.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Sure you didn’t. Please remember the cattle are sold as beef. This is a working ranch.”
“Quinn—” she couldn’t resist—“even the pretty little ones?”
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading this book. I deeply appreciate it. I fell in love with Lisa O’Malley while writing The Guardian, and I knew her future with Quinn would make a great story. Her questions about the Resurrection were a look into the future that awaits us with Jesus.
Kate O’Malley and God’s justice and mercy, Marcus O’Malley and prayer, Lisa O’Malley and the Resurrection—the stories in this series have offered me wonderfully broad canvases. I find this family fascinating. I hope you will join me for Jack’s story in The Protector.
As always, I love to hear from my readers. Feel free to write me at:
Dee Henderson
c/o Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
351 Executive Drive
Carol Stream, IL 60188
E-mail:
[email protected] or on-line: http://www.deehenderson.com
First chapters of all my books are on-line, please stop by and check them out. Thanks again for letting me share Lisa and Quinn’s story.
Sincerely,
Dee Henderson, The Truth Seeker
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