Page 93 of The Chain House

After a pause, he said, “You don’t say? Are you police, Ms. Daley? FBI?”

“No, neither,” she said. “But I was one of the children found in the closet … at the Freedom Ranch. Twenty years ago.”

“Well, I’ll be …”

“Is it okay if we stop by, please? I need to talk to you about Justice Minks.”

“But I don’t know him from Adam,” he said. “And I’m closed until tomorrow morning. Maybe you could—”

“But you do know him, Mr. Mosby,” she said. “I have a book you loaned him a long time ago. A paperback copy of The Lord of the Flies.” Although he remained silent, she could tell he’d begun breathing harder, or deeper, and it was clear the mere mention of the book had struck a nerve. So, she said, “He was Luther back then. A little boy with a terrible scar on his face named Luther Wright.”

After a pregnant beat and a deep breath, Mr. Mosby said, “How far away are you?”

She glanced at Carl’s phone mounted on the dash. “Five minutes.”

“The door will be unlocked when you get here.”

CHAPTER47

“KILL HIM NOW,” Governor Gavin Hawthorne said inside what Sam had secretly named the War Room, the waiting room with the four doors.

He paced, red-faced and weary-eyed, having admittedly not slept a wink since his wife’s abduction. With his shirt cuffs rolled to the elbows, Sam could still see the remnants of the professional athlete he’d been. Every time he clenched and unclenched his fists, his forearm flexed with ripe tendons and toned muscles.

Agent Givens said to Sam, “You saw his face in there when I told him. He was shocked.” And then to the room, where Governor Hawthorne paced and Warden Wren sat in a chair staring at the carpeted floor: “He truly thought her body was going to be in the ground, exactly where he told us. And he hasn’t been wrong on any of the other bodies he’s given us today. So far, he’s batting a hundred percent until now.”

Governor Hawthorne spun toward him, eyes wet, voice soft. “So you think he’s right? That my sister is still alive?”

“Either that or he was off on where her body was buried.”

Warden Wren stood up. “Or he’s lying.”

Hawthorne said to Agent Givens, “You think he’s lying?” His anger returned in a flash. “Is he just fucking with us?”

Sam took the moment to interject himself, and said with confidence, “I believe him.”

“Because he’s fucking with you too,” Warden Wren said, and then softened his tone. “I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to be so blunt. I’ve just known him longer than anyone, and I’ve rarely known him to be genuine.”

“He’s got less than two hours to live,” Sam said.

“A position he’s already been in three times and danced,” the warden responded.

Hawthorne said, “Your firing squad ready?”

Warden Wren shook his head in disbelief. “Yes. I’ve got four guards willing to do it.”

“And television?”

The warden sighed, nodded. “I really hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Hawthorne said, “I’m not taking a chance.”

Agent Givens said, “And we don’t typically negotiate with sociopaths.”

Sam waited for a break to speak. “We’re forgetting about the book. The buried book. If Minks … or Oliver Crown … is playing that book out exactly as it’s written, we need that book.”

Hawthorne looked at his watch. “We have ninety minutes to find it.” And then, “Who am I kidding, the only way I’m going to see my wife again”—he pointed through the wall—“is if that motherfucker dies. On schedule.”

Agent Givens said, “You really think he’s going to give her back?”