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I focused on the road, and we hurtled ahead.
Chapter Three
It was dusk by the time we reached a deserted stretch near an underpass to the Pennsylvania Turnpike. There was nothing around, no lights or security cameras, only a rusted cyclone fence collapsed in sections around a grassy area, accessed by a service road of gravel, dirt, and stones that were bad for my undercarriage. I drove the Maserati only on dry asphalt and never to a murder scene.
“John,thisis the place? You said it was a corporate center.”
“This is Phase Two of Knickerbocker Quarry Center. They start construction next month. Phase One is on the other side of the quarry.”
“So how’d you end up here?”
“We met at the corporate center, and Lemaire told me to follow him, so I did. I didn’t know it was like this until I got here. Park ahead, near the opening in the fence.”
I drove up, cut the ignition, and we got out of the car. John bolted ahead through the fence opening, and I hurried after him on a deer path of weeds and overgrown grass. I was almost through when I heard John’s shocked voice.
“TJ!”
I reached him, standing in a clearing. There was no dead body, only dirt, grass, and brush. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” John answered, astonished. “He was right here. He was on his back. He was dead, I know it. Bloodpouredonto the ground.”
We both looked down. Blackness glimmered underneath the grass, rubble, and stones. I crouched and swiped the spot with my fingers, which came away gritty with blood. “Okay, so he was here. I don’t see the gun or the rock, do you?”
“No. He must’ve taken them.”
“Hmm. Odd. That would be thinking straight, for somebody who had his clock cleaned.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, he’d be woozy, like you feel after a brawl.”
John snorted. “I’ve never been in one.”
“You’re Irish, bro. You should be ashamed.”
“That’s a stereotype.”
“It’s a virtue.”
“Whatever, clearly he’s alive.” John threw up his arms. “Which means I didn’t kill him! Thank God!”
“Wait.” I realized something. “Where’s his car? There was no car out front.”
“My God, yes!” John shot back, elated. “His car’s gone! He really is alive!”
“It’s the likeliest explanation.”
“It’s theonlyexplanation.” John broke into a grin. “He’s alive, he drove away. What else could have happened?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Of what?”
“What else could have happened. I’m trying to analyze—”
“You?Analyze?”
That stung, but I stuffed it. I’m good at stuffing my feelings, though apparently it’s a bad thing to be good at. “How do you know he was alone?”
