Tears stung Madison's eyes. She wanted to believe him, but mere wanting didn't count. "All I know is that we have to make sure nobody else gets hurt. You...you need help."
"But it wasn't me! I swear I didn't do it." His voice sounded gravelly, torn.
"Johnny--"
"Maddy, listen to me."
She felt his grip weaken, knew she should take the opportunity to break away and dash for the door. But his denial and her memories of him from when she was a child were crowding close, confusing her.
Unless you want another fat lip, don't ever talk to my sister like that again....
Tye, she's just a kid. Leave her alone....
Haven't you ever seen a tadpole, Maddy? Want me to catch you one?
"Maddy?" he said.
Madison squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't let herself remember those things. Johnny was a killer, the killer. At least that was what Sharon thought. And in some ways it made sense. His childhood had warped him, scarred him, and somehow their father had realized the truth. That was why Ellis shot himself....
"Dad thought it was you, too, didn't he?" she asked, making no effort to restrain her tears.
She felt his chest shudder against her and knew, despite the lack of light, that he was crying, too.
"He wouldn't believe me," he said. "I tried to tell him I'd never seen the stuff in that box, that I had nothing to do with it. But he...he just looked at me. And his face--" He shuddered again. "You have no idea what it was like seeing him that way. I'd always known he was disappointed in me, but right then I knew I was worse than dead to him."
Tears dripped off Madison's chin as she imagined the scene--the guilt her father must have experienced for not loving Johnny better. The pain Johnny must have known when confronted with their father's pure contempt.
"So you did what?" Madison could barely say the words for fear of Johnny's response because another, even more insidious thought had entered her mind. What if her father hadn't killed himself at all?
"I didn't do anything," Johnny insisted. "I told him he could go to hell if he didn't believe me, and I left."
"Then where did that box come from?"
"Dad said he found it buried in the woodpile. He figured I'd left it there, but I didn't. I wasn't lying--I'd never seen it before. Anyone could've hidden it there. Anyone!"
His grip was lax enough now that Madison could have gotten away. She knew that. But something made her hesitate. Maybe the sleeping pills were interfering with her thinking. Or maybe compassion wouldn't allow her to condemn her brother quite so soon. "Sharon overheard you and Tye--"
"I know, but we weren't talking about murder. We were talking about what I did the day I got out of prison. Tye was angry. He knew that since I'm on probation, they'd put me back in prison if anyone ever found out."
"Found out what?"
She couldn't see him, but she could imagine the tortured expression on his face. "That I...that I went to the cemetery."
His arms fell away from her, and he stepped back. But Madison didn't run. She didn't so much as flip on the light. Somehow she knew they both needed the darkness right now. "It was you who dug up Dad's coffin?" she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Why?"
"I was so angry, Madison. So...damn angry at him. Why wouldn't he believe me? I told him I didn't do it. For once, couldn't he have listened to me?"
She didn't answer. She couldn't speak, couldn't move. The passion in his voice was so real.
"I just wanted him to believe me," he said. "I hate going to sleep at night and seeing that...that damn look on his face." He drew a ragged breath that testified to the depth of his emotion. "I was high when I went to the cemetery. I wasn't thinking straight. Or I would've known it was far too late." His tone turned deadpan. "I couldn't convince him even when he was alive."
Poor Johnny. He lived with so many demons. Even now drugs stood between him and any kind of recovery. But he was no killer. He just didn't have it in him.
Putting her arms around him, Madison tried to draw him close, to offer him some of the support and comfort he'd never had.
At first he stiffened, tried to push her away. But then she said, "It's okay, Johnny. I believe you." And after a few moments, he was sobbing on her shoulder.
CALEB SAT AT HIS kitchen table with a cup of coffee and watched the sun rise. He'd arrived home nearly three hours ago, but he hadn't gone to bed. He had too much on his mind. Mostly Madison. And the investigation. Neither of which were going the way he'd hoped.
Did you really help a friend move when you borrowed my father's truck? Or did you make me walk into that garage and get that truck so you could search it?
He'd done worse than that. He'd made her walk into that garage so he could search Ellis's truck and have Gibbons check the tires. And it had all been for nothing.
With a yawn, he rubbed his tired eyes. After spending most of the night thinking about Madison, he'd finally decided that what had happened between them yesterday was probably for the best. Their relationship couldn't have gone anywhere. She wasn't emotionally available; she'd told him that several times. And he was going back to San Francisco. Better to get over his fascination with her now and focus on what he needed to do before he could return home.
Shoving his coffee away because the caffeine seemed to be making him sick, he called Gibbons.
"Shit, Trovato, don't you ever sleep?" Gibbons complained, picking up after the answering machine had come on.
Caleb felt a pang of guilt for waking him. Gibbons had already put in far more than his share of overtime. But Caleb was impatient. If he wasn't going to pursue a relationship with Madison, he wanted to get the hell out of Seattle. "I don't think--"
"Wait until the machine goes off."
They fell silent until Caleb heard a click, then it was Gibbons' turn to yawn, which he did loudly. "What is it?"
"I don't think we should waste any time with Lance Perkins."
Gibbons snorted. "Hell, I hope you didn't wake me up just to tell me that. I know Lance isn't our man. He stood right in front of us, bare-chested. He didn't have a scratch on him. And I know Susan left marks."
"So where do we go from here?" Caleb asked.
"We get some sleep and recoup when we can think straight."
Caleb was too discouraged, too frustrated to sleep. But he didn't have any right to demand superhuman hours from Gibbons. This was just another case to him. There'd been plenty of such cases before, and there'd be plenty after.