The Killing Moon: A Novel

"He was my informant, yeah. I had that distinct privilege. He was just starting to figure out that this thing was bigger than even he had originally thought when he disappeared. Now, somehow, my small-town criminal conspiracy case has dovetailed into a double-murder investigation."

She was breathing hard like she had been running the entire time he was speaking. Running away from what he was saying and at the same time racing to keep up with him. "So then, Wanda…"

"She was the only one close to Bucky Pail. That's what that was all about. But she stayed loyal to him. Or rather, she stayed loyal to his drugs."

Tracy said, "In the movies, undercover drug agents, sometimes they have to take drugs themselves. To prove they're not police."

"Yeah."

She waited. "That's all you're going to say?"

Donny said, "Yeah."

She felt weird, her hands and legs tingling. Drugs. Donny. She looked at him standing across the kitchen, suddenly realizing that she might not know this man at all. "Did you wear wigs, disguises?"

"No."

"You used your real name?"

"Mostly. Twice I got loaned out to DEA short-term, they tagged me with a phony background. But predominantly, it was just me."

"And you've put away a lot of people?"

"A good few, yeah."

"Don't you worry about them coming back to find you?"

"Not really," he said.

This was his first lie to her, she realized with a chill. "These people…you would live with them, gain their friendship, trust? Knowing you were going to turn on them in the end?"

"It's the second-dirtiest game out there, right after the drug trade itself. But there is no other way. The only way to fight street crime is with street presence." She watched him try to come up with some way of illustrating it so that she would understand. "There are people who are good at doing drugs. That may sound strange to you, but there just are. They can handle it somehow, they can manage their life. What I was good at was this. Undercover. I tried not to question it beyond that. And generally I had success. Until Haverhill." He could see that he was having trouble getting through to her. "Can you see now why it was so important to me that no one knew about us?"

Tracy felt cold. And scared, and suddenly heartsick. She felt squeezed. "What was her name?" she asked.

Donny didn't understand at first. Then he looked down at the floor. He was thinking about that girl, remembering her. "Her name was Casey."

She watched him so closely, needing to read his face for the answer to this question. "Were you in love with her?"

"No," he said. "I wasn't. But isn't that worse?"

This was like trying to wound him by ripping out chunks of herself and throwing them at his head. "You were playing a role."

"That's right."

"Are you playing a role now?"

A weird buzzing ended the charged stillness. Tracy looked at the corner of the counter where he routinely dumped his wallet and keys. His pager was creeping sideways, vibrating.

Donny picked it up, checking the message screen. He looked confused at first, then alarmed. He pressed a button, read something more. "It's him," he said.

He started moving, past her and around the corner to the hall closet.

"Who him?" she said, following.

From the top shelf he brought down his leather holster, unsnapping it and pulling loose his gun. "Sinclair."

"What?" She took the pager from him to see for herself.

The sender's SkyTel address was displayed along with the header and the current time. Meet at pulp mill. Urgent. ALONE.

"How do you know it's him?"

Donny used a key from his ring to undo the trigger lock on his gun. "Three people have that pager number. No—four. The assistant district attorney, who just left here. You. Wanda, who's in lockup. And Sinclair." He took the pager out of her numb hands, and, before slipping it into his back pocket, showed her. "That's his account number. This was sent from his pager."

The two halves of the lock spilled onto the counter. He popped open the barrel to check the load, then closed the gun back up again and tucked it into his holster. He undid his belt strap to his right hip, threading the holster onto it, fixing the belt and buckling it tight.

Tracy said, "You're not going there alone. He's already killed one policeman."

Donny grabbed his wallet and pocketed his keys. "It's nothing like that."

"How do you know?" She looked to the window, the night outside. "Call your state police."

"They would scare him off. You read the message. Look—it's just not like that. I don't have time to explain right now."

He started away, then came back fast.

"Stay here. Wait for me, okay? Please. And don't open the door for anyone but me."

"Don't open the—Wait! What if you don't come back?"

He hurried down the hallway. "I'm coming back."

51

MADDOX