'Was the bank one of his jobs?' Maddy says.
'Exactly', River says. 'Buck used to do the big jobs himself, for the buzz, but this one he decided to give to me. He'd either had enough or he figured it was all getting too risky, and he was getting too old. He's a legitimate and very well respected business man after all, and I know he's keen to keep his public image like that.'
'Right', Maddy says. 'A great influence.'
'He looked after me and gave me a decent job in one of his businesses when I was old enough to work there. He kind of adopted me and has been better to me than anyone else throughout my life who I was forced to call family and never wanted to. I was a legitimate, paid member of his staff, and he tried to keep me away from that part of his business for as long as he could. Hell, I wasn't even working in the casinos, I was a backstage number cruncher for his hotel business, working in an office about as far away as he could get me from it. Glamorous huh?'
'But he couldn't keep you away, could he?'
'It wasn't a case of that', River says. 'I couldn't keep myself away. Buck didn't want me involved, but I didn't want anything else. I'd tried the normal life, but it wasn't for me. Buck could only hold out for so long.'
'How many banks have you robbed?' Maddy says.
'Four', River says without needing to think about it, and without looking at anything but the flat dusty plains zooming past out the window. 'That was the fourth.'
'And how many people have died?' Maddy says.
'Until yesterday, none. That's the first time I've worked with that team. They were high profile men in Buck's criminal organisation. I'd met one of them before when I was much younger, but he didn't recognise me. None of them knew who I was, and that was what Buck had done on purpose, to protect me as best he could. They were the men he always kept me away from, and they were the men he usually worked with, and nobody else. The other ones he put me on were much smaller raids, just to see how I'd get on. To see if I had the bottle. That was my first big job. I never knew it would also be my last.'
'Will it?' Maddy says, her legs tightening again against his hand.
'Yes', River says, looking at her. 'It'll be my last.'
'And where is Buck Tavern now?' Maddy says. 'Why isn't he helping you?'
'He's in Mexico, and he will', River says. 'Buck wouldn't ever let me get burnt, he's like the father I never had.'
Maddy loosens up her grip on River's hand. His life makes her nervous, but she doesn't want to think about it now.
'Is that it?', Maddy says.
'It's some of it', River says. 'It's enough for now.'
'Ok', Maddy says. 'Thank you.'
'For what', River says.
'For being honest.'
Empty space gives way to a suggestion of habitation, as farm buildings begin to dot the landscape around them. Little by little, more buildings come into view, as the road leads them into the familiar settings of a town, much larger than they both expected, that had at one point been a smudge on the horizon, as real as a desert mirage, and now stands up around them so insistently, that they can no longer see the landscape they've just come from. This is a prosperous border town, much bigger than it was the last time River was here, with a mix of Mexican, white American and Indian American looking citizens of all ages, going about their daily business, and then stopping to watch the Lexus drive past with curious interest, as though it were the first time in their lives, any of them had ever seen a car.
Chapter 18
The scrap of paper with the licence plate number of the Lexus River is driving, gathered so expertly by Sally Cannon that morning, sits unattended on Thurston's desk, already lost amongst a pile of other papers, categorised in his mind as 'pending'.
Thurston is not the smartest, nor the most proactive officer, but he does know how to follow orders, and he's learnt over his short time with Hank, that if he gives you something that's not considered a priority by him, it means you have the rest of the week to get it done, unless told otherwise. That is why, instead of running a licence plate check that would have taken fifteen minutes, police deputy Thurston Lurch is continuing to work on a project Hank set him several weeks ago and has since forgotten about, to keep his mind active in the lulls, which come much more often than the peaks, to work out how best to rearrange the furniture in their small office, so they can maximise the space, and get a third desk in if necessary.
Sally Cannon is well known in the community, and well known to the police, not least because her brother is the head of the two man department, but mostly because she likes to stick her nose into other people's business, in a place where doing that isn't ever that well appreciated. Hank had learnt a long time ago that whatever she says to him, has to be taken with a pinch of salt. She has a vivid imagination, and likes nothing more than to be at the very centre of a breaking news story, especially something as huge as this. The more he thinks about her frankly implausible eye witness confession this morning, his feet up on the desk again to aid the process, the more it annoys him. Usually, if Sally has a request for information, decides that she's seen something she most likely hasn't, or just wants to stick her beak in where it isn't needed, using police resources to do so, Hank would freeze her out for as long as he could, making her wait on tenterhooks for him to get back to her. This time, he is so annoyed by her insistence, that he just wants to prove her wrong.
Thurston is checking someone else's facebook page when Hank approaches him.
'You chatted to her yet?' he says, recognising the face and using his coffee mug to point to the screen.
'Not yet', Thurston says, clicking off the page. 'I figure I should probably wait another few weeks or so before I tell her how I feel.'
'That's good thinking', Hank says, not really meaning it. 'Hey listen, that licence plate number I gave you. Did you run the search already?'
'The one you gave me today?' Thurston says. 'I didn't think it was urgent. I was working through the desk plan.'
'Desk plan?' Hank says, genuinely having no idea what he means.
'Yeah, do you want to see it?' Thurston says, excitedly. 'I think it'll work quite well.'
'No, no, forget about that for now', Hank says, whatever the hell it is Thurston's referring to. 'Let's run the search on the licence plate.'
'Now?' Thurston says.
'Yeah', Hank says, pulling over a chair and sitting down. 'I want to wipe that smile off Sally's face and prove her wrong. And then when we've found out that it's not a stolen car, I can go in and see her and get some payback.'
'Lemon meringue pie?' Thurston says, his eyes lighting up.
'A whole one just for you and me, and maybe even a couple of bear claws depending on how bad I make her feel for wasting our time.'
Thurston searches for the scrap of paper, pulling it out of the pile when he finds it.
'It might take a while for the system to load up the database', Thurston says. 'I haven't done this for a while, so I might have to update it.'
'I think we can wait', Hank says, pleased with himself at the imminent prospect of proving his older sister wrong.
Javier cowers in the corner stall of the restroom, clutching his mobile phone. He's sweating profusely over greyed skin, and his hands are trembling so much he looks like he's gravely ill. He tears off toilet paper, wipes his brow, lets it crumple in the palm of his hand, and listens to the voicemail again.
'Javier, please pick up the phone. Whatever you are planning to do is complete craziness. I know you are trying to do right for your family, but this is not the way to do it. Javi, please. Don't make me call the police.'
Javier has known his wife for a long time, but has never heard her sound like this. There is a strain to her voice, not entirely clear on the initial listening, which communicates complete and total panic, and terrifies him to his core. He also knows, only too well, that if he doesn't call her, she will do exactly what she has said she will, to save him from himself. He only hopes that in doing so, he can convi
nce her to think otherwise. Javier deletes the voicemail, and with shaky fingers, dials the only number he knows off by heart.
'Javi, what are you doing?' Claudia says. In the background, he can hear his daughter babbling, trying to form words.
'Something that will get us out of this hole', Javier says, his voice calm, even if the rest of his body isn't.
'Javi, this isn't the way to do it. This isn't going to help.'
'Miguel needs medication and we haven't got enough to provide for him. Without it, he's just going to get worse and worse. Is that what you want to see happen?'
'No, of course I don't', Claudia says, 'but this, they'll put you in prison Javi.'
'They don't know who I am', Javier reasons.
'Javier, listen to me', Claudia says. 'This won't work. Whatever you have planned, they will catch you. Whatever you think you can get away with, you won't. Do you understand me, this isn't the way to do it.'
'What else do we have?' Javier says, his voice desperate, and tears welling at the corner of his eyes. 'I can't lose another child Claudia. I just can't do it.'
'Listen to what you already have', Claudia says and puts the phone close to Elouise's mouth. Javier can hear her breathing. In the background he can hear Claudia say, 'Say hello to daddy, Eli.'
'Addy', Elouise says excitedly, not quite able to pronounce the full word.
Javier breaks down. The sound of his daughter's voice is far too much for him to take. Claudia takes back the phone, and watches as Elouise tries to reach for it again, both arms up as though she wants a cuddle.
'Did you hear that?' Claudia says.
'Yes', Javier says, nodding, as tears as big as raindrops rail down his cheeks.
'Just come home Javi', Claudia says. 'If you do what you are thinking of doing, you'll separate this family more than you'll unite it.'
Javier cries silently into the balled up tissue he still has in his hands.
'Javier, I love you', Claudia says.
'Oh god Claudia, I love you too', Javier says.
'Promise me you'll stop this and come home', Claudia says. 'Keep this family together the way we know how. The only way.'
'I promise', Javier says. 'I promise.'
When he puts down the phone, both him and Claudia know he's lying. He takes a deep breath, takes the sim card out of the phone and puts both back in different pockets. He wipes his eyes, flushes the toilet and heads back to his desk, firm in the belief that what he has chosen to do will not only save his son's life, but provide his family with the opportunity that they've been deprived of for so long.
Claudia breathes deeply. Her daughter has come over and is now trying to pull herself up onto the sofa to be with her mother, unsure to as why she is crying. She helps her up, noticing the similarity her eyes share with her fathers. Claudia has no idea what she's going to do. In a few hours, her husband is likely to be in custody, either put there by his own stupidity, or by her hand. She cannot believe how much of an idiot he's being, blinded by the love he has for his family. It makes her sick with rage.
'Mom', comes a weak cry from upstairs. 'Mom, are you there.'
Miguel is awake again. She folds the ransom note in half, puts it in her pocket, and with her daughter in her arms, goes to look after her son.
There are two sports holdalls on officer Garland's desk, each of which contains a large quantity of paper, cut into the shape of US currency, at the request of his superior Frank Giamatti. Maddy's father has remained out of contact, unwilling to provide either money or an appeal to bring back his daughter, and the several thousand dollars they have in the evidence room, recovered from a recent drug heist, isn't worth the time it'll take to sign it out. Under Frank's orders, whether or not they have been given the go ahead by his superiors, based on his assumption that the ransom note is fake, the two police issue sports bags have been filled with paper, designed to give the impression of weight, that the equivalence in money would do.
The whole thing is a complete waste of police time, and something Garland can't wait to get over with. They'll drop the money, send the code, wait until whoever is responsible for this mess to pick up the bags, and then they'll swoop, arrest him or her and get on with finding the real criminal. Garland, although he would never say so, can't actually believe that Frank is going along with it, especially as he believes so vehemently that the note is fake. They could just ignore it and carry on elsewhere, but Garland reckons there is pressure from above, incited directly by the press, and it wouldn't be appropriate, no matter how it turns out, for them to ignore it altogether, on the very slight chance it's real, and Maddy does end up in a suitcase on the side of interstate five.
Garland will drop the money himself, set up a team to keep watch, and stay in communication with whoever it is who's demanding it. Clearing the area, upon his request, only when Madeleine is found where she is meant to be. How whoever sent that note plans to do that if he doesn't have her, is beyond him. Stupidity, however, as Garland is well aware, goes easily with this territory.
'Don't you wish that was a million dollars?' Another officer says to Garland as he stares at the bags, his mind a thousand miles away.
'I would if it was mine', Garland says, dropping a transponder into one of the bags, just before he zips them both up.
The database is running as slowly as Thurston expected it to, so slowly in fact, that Hank is almost considering giving up entirely, and just making something up for his nosy sister to go on.
'Is it broken?' Hank says, as he watches the screen, frozen in thought.
'I don't know', Thurston says. 'I can't remember how long it took last time.'
'I guess we don't have much call to search for stolen cars', Hank says, sipping coffee from a mug that says 'I'm the boss.'
'Not around here', Thurston says. 'Maybe it was Bert Sinclair's red corvette last time. Do you remember that one?'
'When he forgot where he parked it, reported it stolen and then two weeks later it turned up in his garage. I remember it took a whole morning to clear it from the system. What a ball-ache that was.'
'Here we go', Thurston says, 'It's doing something.'
He leans into the screen and Hank leans with him, excited to see what comes up.
'Silver Lexus', Hank says.
'Silver Lexus', Thurston repeats.
'Well how about that?' Hank says with a smug grin of satisfaction on his face. 'Not reported stolen. What did I tell you? You wait 'til I tell her about this. She's going to eat a whole damn six slice cake of humble pie, you see if I don't make her. Now lets see who it's registered to.'
'It's registered to a River Woods', Thurston says.
'Sounds like a national geographic documentary', Hank says, and they both laugh.
'Twenty seven years old, white male. He's listed here as an accountant at Juniper Glade Hotel.'
A picture of River wearing a suit and tie, and a pair of black, square rimmed glasses appears on the screen. It doesn't look like him at all, but it's definitely him.
'Well how about that', Hank says again. 'I think I might have stayed at one of those.'
'Everything checks out', Thurston says. 'He doesn't even have any penalty points.'
'Clean as a whistle, Sal's going to love that', Hank says, chuckling to himself.
'You want me to call the company, just to check. Perhaps his car has been stolen and he doesn't know it.'
'No way', Hank says. 'What's rule number one of this department?' He points at the whiteboard behind them, where are list of rules have been crudely written.
'Don't look for a crime if one doesn't already exist', Thurston says, reading the note word for word.
'Exactly', Hank says. 'We're far too busy here to go ringing around people to check to see if their cars have been stolen. If he reports it, we find it, otherwise we don't have a crime. Besides which, Juniper Glade have hotels all over the place, that's a big company to start calling. Sounds like way too much effort to me. If it's been stolen, I'm su
re River will notice and give the police a call.'
'You don't think he could have stolen it? You know, the robber, without River realising it?' Thurston says, asking the questions he believes a good cop should ask, from several years watching his TV counterparts do the same.
'What the hell would she be doing driving it, if she's supposed to be his hostage? I reckon that dear old sister of mine saw something she wanted to see, so she could get herself involved and end up on TV. You know how obsessed she is with being the centre of attention all the time. No one else has rung in saying they've spotted this Mandy Parker.'
'Maddy Parker', Thurston quickly corrects him.
'No, we've done what she asked, even prioritised it too. After lunch I'll go down there and tell her what we found. And after that, she can believe what she likes.'
Hank screws up the piece of paper with the license plate number on and throws it towards the bin, missing by a metre and a half.
'Shall I carry on with the floor plan?' Thurston asks him, when he's back at his desk.
'You carry on with whatever needs to be done', Hank tells him, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the desk, where they nestle comfortably into an indent rubbed into the wood, from several years of relaxing in the same position.
Chapter 19
'That's it?' Maddy says, looking at the border control and the wide expanse of land on the other side of the fence that looks exactly the same as the side they are on, with, if anything, a slightly smaller town. 'That's Mexico?'
'That's freedom', River says.
They've parked the car side on, so both of them can see. It's a reasonably busy border crossing, not the most active or popular of them all, but definitely not a line in the dirt with a hut and a wooden barrier, keeping people either out or in. Here they'll check documents thoroughly enough to make you feel like a criminal, even if you're not. If the police don't have his name yet, River knows he'll be fine. If they do, it'll only be a matter of time before they catch him anyway, time he might as well spend wisely, before it's taken away from him altogether. For armed robbery, he'll be looking at fifteen years, possibly more than that with the murdered civilian. Either way it's a long way down if he happens to fall.
Holding On To You Page 18
