“Not here,” he said, looking around the home where he’d grown up, where he’d felt the clap of his father’s hand on his shoulder when he’d caught the winning touchdown for the high school football team, where he’d seen his mother’s gaze, always full of reproach when he’d come in late stinking of beer, where he’d felt the bite of his father’s belt as it cut across his buttocks when he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. There were holes in the walls, plastered over, but still visible, that were the marks of his fists when a blow he’d thrown at one of his brothers had gone astray. There was a gouge near the door where he’d broken through the chain lock when Neville had locked him out and there was a spot on the roof he thought of as his
, outside the attic window, where he’d sat many a night under the stars, horny as hell, and thinking how bright his future might be.
And it had all come crashing down to this.
“Where?” she asked.
“Let’s go to Aaron’s.”
“He’s involved, too?” she asked.
But he could tell from her expression that she’d already guessed or been told most of the truth.
“To his back teeth.”
“And Robert?”
“Of course.”
She was obviously stunned, but she held up her chin and said, “Then let’s get to it, okay? If any one of you knows where Dani Settler is, I’ll—”
“There’s no need to threaten, Shannon,” he said, some of his anger returning. “I get it, okay? Let’s just do this and for the record, I don’t have any idea what happened to the kid.”
She clearly didn’t believe him, but he didn’t give a shit. He called his brothers and the lawyer. They all agreed to meet at Aaron’s house over on Fifth Street. He and Shannon waited in intense silence until Mrs. Sinclair arrived to take care of Maureen.
Thank God he didn’t have to face Father Timothy again or be reminded of how Oliver had ended up swinging from the crossbeam in the basement of St. Benedictine’s.
They drove separate cars to Aaron’s. The family lawyer, Peter Green, was just sliding out of his black Mercedes. In one hand he carried a briefcase. He looked worried as hell, his bald pate wrinkled from the eyebrows up as he pocketed his keys. Approaching Shea in front of the house, he said, “I think you’re making a big mistake.”
“Mine to make, Pete,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”
Shannon waited on the walk and together they entered Aaron’s tiny house, a one-bedroom stucco bungalow built around the 1920s.
Robert and Aaron were already in back, on the patio, standing in the shade of a madrona tree, smoking and whispering. They both looked like hell.
“What’s going on?” Aaron asked, his eyes darting from Shannon to Peter and back to Shea. He drew on his cigarette as if it was his last chance in this lifetime for a hit of nicotine.
“It’s time to come clean,” Shea said, and Aaron blanched. Robert scowled. “We can’t hide it any longer.” He settled wearily into a patio chair next to a dusty table with a broken umbrella. Peter and Shannon took seats next to him. Expression tense, Aaron stood beneath the overhang of the patio. Robert sat on the top step, chain smoking and looking about as miserable as a person could. “Shannon’s figured out a lot of what’s going on,” Shea said, filling them in. “It’s time we talked to Paterno. We’ll let Pete do the talking for us, see what he can do.” He glanced back at Shannon. “You want the truth, go ahead and ask.”
“All right,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows. “Let’s start with the obvious. Where’s Dani Settler? Why has she been kidnapped, and who the hell is the Stealth Torcher?”
Shannon listened with growing horror as the story of her brothers unfolded. Shea began the narrative. “You were right,” he said. “Dad started this whole Stealth Torcher business. I’m not sure he would have ever owned up to it, but I was working at the Santa Lucia Fire Department at the time and noticed that whenever one of the fires attributed to the Torcher happened, Dad was missing for a while. I found some stuff in the garage, the same kind of accelerant that the Torcher had used, the fuse material. I confronted him and he explained that he’d had to do something, become a hero, so he wouldn’t lose his job. He had a lot of years in with the department, wanted a promotion so that he could retire on a bigger salary, and so he created his own scenario where he could be the hero.”
Robert closed his eyes and hung his head. Aaron avoided looking at her.
“But then someone died,” Shannon whispered.
“Yes. A woman by the name of Dolores Galvez.”
“Dad started that fire?”
Shea nodded. “Yeah.”
“Is that right, Aaron?” she asked, noting that her oldest brother’s face had turned the color of chalk.
“Dad didn’t know anyone would be in there.”
“And you all knew about this when it was happening?” Her voice rose in outrage.