“Something good,” French said. But he was more concerned about the body parts in the basement freezer. Eighteen-year-old parts or something else? No one could tell him. He stood at the front door. Twenty minutes since the gate came down. “Any word from the medical examiner?”

“Five minutes out. Can I get you a coffee?”

French didn’t want coffee. He wanted to know who fired the shots, who they were fired at and why. Dispatch had delivered three different messages from his wife. She wanted news. Where was her son?

“He has to be here.” French tried to scrape the sleeplessness from his eyes. “And where the hell is Jason?”

“Oh, man.”

“What? Ken? What?”

“Something Jason said. Bill, I’m sorry. With all that’s happened, I forgot. It made so little sense when he said it. I had no context. Had no idea we’d find this.”

He dipped his chin toward the house, and French squared up on his best friend of thirty years. Anger. Need. He could hide none of it. “Said what, exactly?”

Burklow lowered his voice. “He asked me to tell you that if things went sideways, he’d be at the quarry. You can see why I’d blank on that. It was four in the morning. I had no idea any of this was coming. The quarry? Seriously.”

French raised a finger, too tired to conjure any real force. “You deal with this.” He meant the house, all of it. “And please don’t talk to my wife.”

At the quarry, French parked beside the only car there. Jason stood alone at the water’s edge, the morning light thin on his face. In spite of all that had transpired, the sun was still low, not a hand’s breadth above the trees. French wasted no time; couldn’t hide the distress. “Is he okay?”

“Gibby is fine. He was in shock for a while, but he’s better. No physical harm.” Jason kept his eyes on the water, but lifted his chin toward the cliff. “He’s up there with Chance. Processing, I think. I told him I’d stay down here and wait for you. I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

French let his eyes move up the cliff’s face. He saw them there, and almost broke. Now that he knew. Now that he could breathe. “He was at the house?”

“He was.”

“Son, I don’t understand any of this. Why was he there? How did you know he was there? How did you get him out?”

“Me? I was never there.”

“Son, please.”

Jason sighed, and it came from a deep place. “It’s a long story, and I’m tired. As far as the cops are concerned, Gibby can tell you everything you need to know.”

“The cops, yeah.” French said it reluctantly. “Why did you call us? Burklow said you needed help.”

“All I needed was the distraction.”