The Gift of the Darkness Read Free Page A

would.
    “Are you sure there’s nobody you’d like to call? You can call long-distance, or I can find the number for you if you have a name.”
    The girl shook her head. Madison knew what Rose was seeing: an adult with good warm clothes, three meals a day, and the keys to an apartment—maybe even a house. Rose didn’t want to explain herself to such a person. Madison understood that better than Rose would ever know.
    “I remember the first time I was in a police station,” Madison said as she picked up an apple from her desk and took a bite.
    The girl was too tired to even pretend that she was interested.
    “I was twelve years old. Ran away from home. County police picked me up near the Canada border, north of Anacortes. I was gone for a week before they found me.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “Nope. One week. It was August and very hot, not like now.” Madison was matter-of-fact. “We were living on an island; one day I just took the ferry.”
    “This is just something you’re making up. I bet you tell this story to all the kids you pick up.”
    The girl seemed very small just then and closed up like an angry little fist.
    “Morning, Detective.” Shawna Williams walked into the room, an African-American woman in her early forties. They had met forthe first time when Madison was still in uniform. She looked down at the blond girl.
    “Who’s this, then? May I borrow your interview room?”
    “Be my guest. Help yourself to coffee.”
    “Who made it?”
    “I did.”
    “You make coffee like it’s the last cup you’ll ever drink.”
    “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
    “Only if you want to live past forty.”
    “I’ll bear that in mind.”
    “You do that,” she said, and she poured herself a cup. “Let’s go.”
    Madison and the girl nodded a sort of good-bye to each other; she extended a business card toward Rose.
    “You find another gun . . .”
    The girl put the card in her pocket and went off down the dimly lit corridor. Shawna’s warm tones bounced off the walls, but Madison could not hear the words anymore. Somebody somewhere would have to investigate how the girl had gotten the gun and whether it had been used for anything less than legal, but not till tomorrow.
    At 6:00 a.m., Madison slipped her jacket on, straightened the papers on her desk, turned off her lamp, and prepared to leave. Howard Jenner, the desk sergeant, waved, the phone’s receiver cradled on his shoulder. Two detectives walked up the steps with a drunken man in handcuffs; he looked at Madison as she walked past.
    “Sweet dreams, honey.” His voice was like a broken bottle.
    The rain had stopped, and the sky was wide above her.
    Alki Beach was deserted at that time of day. Madison parked in her usual spot and climbed into the backseat. She peeled off her slacks and pulled on sweatpants and a faded Sonics sweatshirt. She had never liked the idea of leaving her weapon in the car, in case some bright thief decided her four-year-old Honda was worth stealing. She got out, adjusted the holster under her sweatshirt, and rolled her head from side to side. The muscles above her shoulder blades were tight; it was cold and damp, and she would need to warm up pretty quickly.She leaned on the car with one hand, grabbed one foot and pulled it up high behind her, then did the same with the other.
    She started toward the water’s edge with a gentle jog, and after a couple of minutes she put some speed into it and really dug into the ground. In a while the world would just be the water lapping and her feet hitting the sand.
    In the near-complete darkness of the Hoh River Trail, a three-hour drive from Seattle, a man races through the woods, a blur through the trees. It is the thirty-seventh time he has run that stretch, the twentieth in darkness. Fast enough to keep him alive for the time he will need, slow enough for his ultimate purpose. He reaches the bottom of the bank and checks his watch. Twenty-three minutes . He lifts his