Rusk looked down at his hands. “Because I was the one who drove him.”
The sheriff's expression hardened. “Drove him where?”
“To the quarry road. The night he disappeared.”
The room seemed to contract around the words.
Rusk swallowed. “He said he had to meet somebody. He thought he could get a confession. I told him it was a bad idea. He said if he waited, the evidence would disappear. I drove him as far as the old weigh station. He got out with a canvas bag. He told me to go home.”
“And you did?”
“Yes.”
“You left him there?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid.” Rusk's voice broke on the last word. He cleared his throat. “I heard a vehicle come up the road after I left. A heavy one. I saw headlights in my mirror. I kept driving. The next morning, Thomas was gone.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“I told his father I had seen him that night. I didn't tell him where. I told the sheriff then that I hadn't driven him anywhere. I lied.”
Harlan's face was unreadable. “You lied to a missing-person investigation.”
“I know what I did.”
“You let a family believe their son had simply run away.”
Rusk nodded. “I did.”
“Why come now?”
“Because Eleanor Vale sent men to my house last week. They asked whether I still had the maintenance logs. They said the company was cleaning old records and wanted to settle any outstanding claims. One of them mentioned Thomas by name. They said if I kept repeating stories, I could end up like him.”
Naomi stood. “Did you report the threat?”
“To whom? The local department?”
Harlan did not take offense. He looked as if the question had landed exactly where it was meant to.
“Did you keep the logs?” Eli asked.
Rusk nodded. “Not all of them. I kept the pages Thomas copied and a few work orders. They're at my sister's place, in a lockbox. I can take you there.”
“Not alone,” Naomi said. “We'll arrange protection and a formal statement.”
Rusk stared at the tabletop. “I don't need protection.”
“That's not your decision anymore,” Harlan said. “Not if the threat is connected to an active investigation.”
The sheriff opened the file in front of him. Inside were copies of the original missing-person report, two photographs, and a yellowed map of the quarry road. Eli recognized Thomas from the photograph Walter had shown them. The young man stood beside the Mustang, smiling as though the world had not yet taught him caution.
Harlan turned the map around. “The old quarry was searched twice in 2004. Both searches were limited. The property was owned by a holding company connected to Vale Industrial.”
“Who signed off?” Naomi asked.
Harlan checked the page. “Deputy Sheriff Frank Dwyer. Retired.”
“Was Dwyer involved with Vale?”
“His brother-in-law worked there.”
Rusk let out a breath. “That's why nobody looked.”
Harlan closed the file. “We are going to look now.”
• • •
The state evidence team began examining the Mustang at seven the next morning. A portable canopy had been erected over the car, and technicians worked beneath bright white lamps. The rain had stopped, leaving the yard washed clean and shining.
Daniel Cho arrived with a forensic mechanic named Lena Ortiz. She wore blue coveralls, nitrile gloves, and a headlamp. Before touching anything, she walked around the Mustang slowly, studying the body panels and the places where rust had gathered.
“She's held together better than she looks,” Lena said.
“Can you open the hood?” Cho asked.
“After I photograph the latch and the hinges.”
Walter Bell waited outside the tape. He had come before sunrise and had not left. Eli brought him coffee from the gas station. Walter accepted it with both hands.
“Did you sleep?” Eli asked.
“A little.”
“That's more than most of us.”
Walter watched Lena document the front grille. “Thomas used to talk to that car.”
“Talk to it?”
“Not like it could answer. He'd tell it what was wrong, then work until he found it. Said an engine always told the truth if you learned how to listen.”
Eli smiled faintly. “I know a few people who could use that lesson.”
Walter looked at him. “You think he's alive?”
Eli did not answer immediately. He had learned that hope could be a cruel thing when handed out carelessly.
“I think we don't know what happened yet,” he said. “And now we have a chance to find out.”
Walter nodded, accepting the honesty.
At nine fifteen, Lena lifted the hood. The engine compartment was dusty but complete. The original air cleaner had been replaced, and the battery tray showed signs of later repair. She photographed each part, then used a mirror to inspect the firewall.