Episode 10 · Across the Road

Maxim parked opposite the river workshops with the truck facing back toward town.

Soles had asked for that. If they found Kerr, he wanted to be able to leave without turning the vehicle in the narrow road. Maxim had argued that parking closer would let them see more. He gave in when Soles pointed to the open bay and asked what they would do if somebody shut the gate behind them.

— You could’ve led with that.

— I did. At the corner.

Maxim leaned back against the seat, dissatisfied with the amount of road between them and the workshop.

The building had a wide shutter below an office window. A small yard lay in front of it, enclosed by a waist-high fence. The entrance stood open. From the passenger seat, Soles could see the office stairs and anyone crossing to the gate.

He kept Krista’s photograph flat on his knee.

They had sent the images to the investigator. This morning, Soles had told him where the driver said Kerr collected loads. The officer had asked for the exact address if they confirmed it, and told him to keep his distance.

He had said yes.

Now a man came out carrying an empty crate. Soles’s fingers tightened on the photograph before the man raised his head. Too narrow through the jaw. He put the crate beside the shutter and went back inside.

Maxim noticed the movement of Soles’s hands.

— That one?

— No.

They waited. A boat engine sounded beyond the buildings, followed by the scrape of something heavy over concrete. Soles tried to loosen his grip before he damaged the picture.

— Your friend at the garden did well, Maxim said.

— She’s Varren’s friend.

— She lent you the original. That’s a fairly promising start.

Soles glanced at him. Maxim kept watching the gate with the smallest change at the corner of his mouth.

— You’re very interested in a photograph you haven’t looked at properly.

— I’ve seen the important part. She expects you to bring it back.

Soles was considering an answer when the office window opened.

A man leaned out to speak to someone below.

He wore a light shirt. One forearm rested across the sill. The other hand held a cigarette.

The yard at home returned so sharply that Soles heard the dogs.

He caught the seat with his free hand. The photograph slid off his knee, and he let it fall. The man at the window turned toward the stairs, showing his face in the afternoon light.

There was no smoke, no movement hiding it, no pistol drawing Soles’s eyes away. He saw the same heavy cheek and the mouth that had tightened before the shot.

— Him.

Maxim straightened.

— You’re sure?

Soles made himself look again. The man said something to the worker with the crate and smiled at the answer.

— Yes.

He had expected anger to come first. Instead, his body tried to get him out of the seat and away from the window. His breath shortened until the dressing pulled with every attempt to fill his lungs.

Across the road, Kerr brushed ash from his sleeve. That small, fussy gesture held Soles’s attention. His mother had once chased Kale into the yard because he was carrying sawdust onto the kitchen floor. The argument had lasted until supper, when she found more beneath his chair. Soles could remember what they had eaten. He could remember laughing at his father trying to blame the dogs.

Kerr turned away from the window, leaving the worker to clear up below him. Somewhere in the world, this man still had afternoons to waste. He could go home, complain about his food, sit at a table. The thought put heat behind Soles’s fear.

Maxim reached toward the door.

Soles caught his sleeve.

— Call the investigator. The number’s in my phone.

— He might leave.

— Then we tell him which way.

Maxim took the phone. Soles watched Kerr move away from the window, afraid to lose even that small piece of him.

He wanted the garden’s quiet. Just a moment beneath the tree where breathing did not hurt and the man beside the roots knew what to do with his hands.

He kept his eyes open.

Kerr appeared at the bottom of the stairs. The worker gave him a sheet to sign. He leaned it against the wall, wrote something, then handed it back and walked toward the gate.

Maxim held out the phone.

— Voicemail.

Soles gave the address and said he had recognized the man who shot him. His voice sounded steadier on the message than he felt. He ended it before adding anything he could not prove.

Kerr stopped inside the gate and lit a fresh cigarette.

He looked along the road toward town, then the other way. His gaze passed over the yellow truck. It returned.

Soles lowered the phone.

From this distance, he could not read the expression. Kerr stood still long enough for the smoke to drift past his face. Then he crushed the cigarette beneath his shoe and opened the gate.

— Start the engine, Soles said.

Maxim turned the key. A van came around the bend behind them, leaving little room to pull out. He checked the mirror, waited for it to pass and swore when it stopped at the workshop entrance.

Kerr was already crossing the road.

Maxim put the truck in neutral and opened his door.

— Get back in, Soles said.

— He’s coming here.

— That’s why I want you in the truck.

Maxim hesitated with one boot on the step. Kerr had reached the front of the cab. He walked around it toward Soles’s side, hands visible, eyes lifted to the open window.

Soles wanted the glass between them. He wanted Kerr close enough to hear. The two wishes held him still until the man stopped beside the door.

Up close, recognition became complete.

This was the face above the gun. This was the man who had walked past his hand while he lay on the path trying to breathe.

Kerr looked at the dressing showing beneath his open collar.

— You should still be in the hospital, he said.

On the other side of the cab, Maxim stepped down onto the road.