Stranger on the Shore - lanyon Josh - Страница 60

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“Why the fuck couldn’t you stay dead?” Ring panted. His next kick landed between Griff’s shoulder blades.

It was like being hit by an anvil. Griff yelled his pain and scrambled up, trying to get away. That was his entire focus. Get away—because there was no way he was a match for Ring Shelton in this kind of brawl. It was like fighting a grizzly bear.

“It’s all over,” he cried. “The cops are on their way. They know everything by now.”

But maybe it wasn’t about that anymore. Maybe it wasn’t about anything more than discharging that raw, physical rage on the only available target.

Ring launched himself forward, his arms clamping around Griff’s waist, throwing him backward. Ring landed on top, his meaty hands closing around Griff’s throat. Massive hands crushing his windpipe. Griff slammed his fists against Ring’s head. He wriggled, kicked, tried to throw Ring off, but it felt like a boulder had landed on his chest.

He couldn’t breathe. Could not breathe.

Griff’s hands slapped down on Ring’s, he desperately felt for little fingers, trying to drag Ring’s hands away from his throat. He could hear Ring talking to him but it was like listening from underwater. Stars shot behind his eyelids. His vision began to blacken at the edges.

He wrapped his fingers around a digit that felt like a sausage and yanked with all his might. Someone roared in the distance, Griff gulped in air, and then a blow like a hammer smashed into his head.

He fought. He was fighting with every last breath, but his arms were getting heavier and heavier. The sunlight faded out to night.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Cool sweet oxygen filling his nostrils, filling his lungs.

Griff dragged in a deep breath. His eyes snapped open. The vise around his throat was gone. The mountain sitting on his chest had moved—and was groaning in a pile of rubble next to him.

“You all right?” a gruff voice asked.

Griff peered up. A burly figure stood over him holding a shovel. Nels Newland.

Griff nodded, pushed to his feet and nearly toppled over again. Weaving, he stared down at Ring who was muttering to himself. Blood trickled down the side of Ring’s face into his beard.

“I guess you do annoy some people,” Newland commented.

Griff turned to him. “I guess I do.” He took a couple of steps back and his legs seemed to give way. He sat down in the wet grass.

Newland frowned down at him.

Griff stared up. A thought occurred. “May Chung told me to ask you...”

“Ask me what?”

Griff shook his head. What the hell did any of it matter now?

Newland’s craggy face twitched in annoyance. “Oh, I know what she’s thinking,” he said.

Ring rolled over and began to crawl on his belly toward the stairs. Newland raised his shovel again, as though about to squash a slug. But there was no need. Suddenly cops were pouring in from every direction. Two burly uniformed men scrambled down the stairs. A couple of young, energetic types jumped from the wall surrounding the garden—only to discover that it was a longer drop than they’d realized.

Newland watched the air dance performance and made a derisive sound. He turned back to Griff. “I’ll tell you what May Chung is afraid of. She’s afraid you’re going to write something bad about her father because he was the one who hired Johnson. Well, I’ll tell you the truth. I did know Johnson before. I met him at the racetrack and he seemed like an okay fella. How was I to know he’d driven the getaway car in an armed robbery? I did recommend him to Tuppalo. And he did know how to drive. He was a hell of a driver. How was I supposed to know about the rest of it? Of course I didn’t know!”

The biggest and burliest of the cops approached Griff, keeping a wary eye on Newland and his trusty shovel. “Are you all right, Mr. Arlington?” he asked.

* * *

Pierce did not show up while Griff spoke to the police. He had been instrumental in getting the cops to locate Griff. He had been instrumental in pointing the investigation toward Ring Shelton. Shelton’s Hell’s Kitchen restaurants were in financial hot water—boiling hot water—and “Brian’s” resurfacing and Jarrett’s decision to reinstate the original will had been the worst possible news at the worst possible time.

Unfortunately Griff’s appearance had probably exacerbated the situation. All that discussion of murder and mystery had planted an idea in a brain that was already receptive to the notion of violent solutions.

Detective Patrick apologetically explained it all to Griff. Apologetic because Pierce had already shared his anticipation of the results of Griff’s DNA test with law enforcement, and Griff—Brian—was being treated with kid gloves. Yes, everyone was being very careful with Griff. In fact, they were handling him like a time bomb that was ready to go off any second.

The weird part was that as angry as Griff was with Pierce—with his highhandedness, with his arrogance, with his interfering—what really hurt was that Pierce didn’t come when he needed him.

He didn’t come during all the time that Griff talked to the police. Hours. Hours of talking to the police. Of telling them everything he knew. Not just about his investigation into Brian’s disappearance, which now seemed pitifully, ridiculously little. He talked about his mother, about growing up in Janesville, he talked until his voice was so hoarse he was whispering.

Where was Pierce?

Why didn’t Pierce come to him?

Griff listened to Detective Patrick explain everything. About how in the end it was really just about money. Just like his mother—no, Amy Truscott—had said. Ring had wanted, needed Brian dead because Brian stood in the way of financial salvation.

They all needed money.

No. Not true. Muriel didn’t need money. But she wanted it. She felt the estate was due her because she was Jarrett’s oldest child. It wasn’t just that though. She wanted back the child she had given away because, unlike her sister, she didn’t have the nerve to have a baby out of wedlock. She wanted her son back and she wanted to be paid for the time she had done without him.

Marcus needed money. But Marcus didn’t really care about money. Marcus hadn’t really cared about money or anything else since his brother and sister-in-law had gone down in a Whitewater Yacht ten years ago.

Michaela needed money too, but she hadn’t realized it. Hadn’t realized her husband was siphoning off her trust fund to keep his restaurants afloat. And she didn’t care. Now she needed money for Ring’s bail. And with Jarrett out of commission that was ultimately up to Pierce.

Pierce, who wasn’t answering phone calls from the Arlingtons. Any of the Arlingtons. Who still didn’t show up even after Griff went to the hospital to see Jarrett.

That was the only good part of the day—not counting the early morning when he had woken in Pierce’s arms and felt Pierce’s smile against his mouth, felt Pierce’s arms locked around him as though Pierce would never let him go.

There were tears in Jarrett’s eyes, but there was a new spark of life too. “I knew it,” he whispered. “I knew it the minute I saw you.” His skin was warm and he gripped Griff’s hand with increased energy.

Griff nodded. But of course Jarrett hadn’t known. Jarrett had threatened to destroy him on behalf of Leland. He had done it in the nicest possible way, but he had done it nonetheless.

But maybe Griff was being too harsh. Maybe Griff wasn’t giving enough credence to guilt, to family loyalty, to the need to make amends. He was fond of Jarrett. There was a part of him that wanted to believe Jarrett. He gripped the old man’s hands and smiled at him, and when Jarrett pulled him down, he hugged him, careful of the wires and the hardware and the IVs.

Jarrett whispered, “Welcome home, my boy,” and Griff had to close his eyes tight because yes, he wanted to believe that.

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