Chapter 22: The Dock

At the top of the Gull Street lane, the detective stood in front of Leigh with both hands up.

"I can't let you walk down there," he said. "She has a gun and a hostage."

"She said alone," Leigh said. "If I'm alone she'll shoot. If I come with people, she'll talk."

"Why would she talk?"

"Because she has never once in her life passed up an audience."

The detective looked at Conroy, and at her two other brothers behind him, and at Jonas Hartwell in his gray coat.

"Five minutes," he said. "My people stay in the dark. If I hear a shot, we come in."

Leigh nodded.

She went down the lane with Jonas on her right and Conroy on her left.

Her second brother and her third brother walked behind, shoulder to shoulder, and none of them said anything.

The fog came off the harbor in slow gray sheets.

At the edge of the planking, Jonas stopped.

She felt it before she saw it: the hand in hers had gone cold and stiff.

Black water lay under the boards, moving against the pilings.

He stared down at it, and his jaw shook.

"Jonas," she said.

"I'm all right."

"Are you afraid?"

He shut his eyes.

"Yes."

"Good," she said. "Say it again when we get to the end."

"Leigh..."

"You taught me the rule. You don't carry it alone."

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

Then he stepped onto the dock.

The boards creaked.

They walked the length of it together, past the rotten posts and the coiled rope and the wet shine of the planks.

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