Die Job(81)

“I’ve got to find Lindsay.” He wrenched away from his mother’s hold. His face was set in lines of grim resolve, and with his bald head, he looked older than he had earlier in the week. His mother winced away from the look in his eyes.

He took another step toward the door, but then stopped and flung his forearm across his eyes as the lights came blazing on. Someone must have flicked the wall switch after the lights went out, because the chandelier and every light fixture in the room lit up. I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust my eyes to the glare.

“Got her,” a satisfied voice said loudly.

Hank appeared in the opening, holding a wet and bedraggled Lindsay Tandy by one arm. She held her head defiantly, oblivious to the wet, brown strands clinging to her cheeks and the sodden jeans dripping water onto the foyer floor. She’d lost a shoe during her flight and stood squarely on one bare foot and one muddy sneaker. Her gaze met Mark’s for one pleading second and then she flung her head back, wet hair smacking Hank in the face, and said, “You can’t prove anything.”

“Lindsay!” The word exploded out of Mark as if torn from his lungs and vocal cords by a superhuman force. “You didn’t—”

“I only talked to him,” Lindsay said. “About . . . you know. That’s all. Just talked.” Her eyes searched his and she strained against Hank’s hold.

“I Mirandized her,” Hank said, restraining her easily, despite her height and athleticism.

“In here.” Dillon took charge and shepherded Hank and Lindsay and Mark and his parents into the small parlor. I slipped in just as he closed the door in the face of the astonished crowd who were being herded into another part of the mansion by two uniformed police officers, Hank’s partner and another woman.

“We’re going home right now,” Joy Crenshaw announced, drawing her lips into a tight circle.

“After we’ve sorted through a few things,” Dillon said amiably. He directed the Crenshaws to the horsehair sofa against the wall and nodded Lindsay toward a ladder-back chair with a needlepoint cushion. Hank released her at a nod from Dillon and she settled on the chair, ostentatiously rubbing her arm. I hovered near the door, hoping Dillon wouldn’t order me to leave.

“You can’t keep us here,” Joy said angrily. “We haven’t done anything.”

“You and Captain Crenshaw are free to go, if you wish,” Dillon said, still in a calm voice. “But I’m afraid Mark has to stay so we can question him about lying to a police officer and obstructing a murder investigation.” Very deliberately, he spoke his name and the date and time into a small recorder, then pulled a card from his wallet and Mirandized Mark.

“You don’t—You’re not going to file charges?” Joy gasped. “He’ll lose his appointment to the Naval Academy if you arrest him!”

“Good!” The surprising word came from Mark.

“You don’t mean that,” his mother said, slewing on the sofa to face him. “You wanted to follow in your father’s footsteps. It’s been your dream for—”

“It’s been your dream,” he said. “I don’t want to go. I’ve been dreading it.”

“You’re just upset,” Joy said, reaching out to pat his hand. “That’s understandable, what with finding out that Lindsay—”

He yanked his hand away. “Leave Lindsay out of it. The thought of going up there—of all the pressure—was making me sick. Braden knew it.” Mark stood and faced Dillon. “Arrest me.” He held his wrists out as if expecting Dillon to slap handcuffs on him. “Arrest me, God damn it, and make sure to notify the Academy.”

“But, Mark,” Lindsay cried, “if you lose your appointment, how will we be together? I’m going to Maryland to be near you. If you’re not there—”

“He’ll be there,” Joy said, standing. Her wiry body vibrated with emotion. “Although you’ve been a bad influence from the start, distracting him from his studies and from football.” She eyed Lindsay with loathing.

“I’m not going, Mom,” Mark said, turning to face the sputtering woman. “Even if this”—he gestured to the room at large—“turns out okay, I’m not going. I’m declining the appointment. I’ll fax them the letter today.”

“You are going.” Joy’s hand swung back, and before anyone could guess what she was doing, she slapped Mark across the face. The smack of flesh on flesh was shocking in the small room and no one moved as a dull red handprint surfaced on Mark’s face, right on top of the bruise I’d noticed the other day. Joy drew her hand back again, but Mark caught her wrist as she swung at him again. Now I knew where her bruise had come from.