Reina knew right then that this moment would stay with her just as long, if not longer, than all the moments that Saul had imprinted on her mind.
Liora Holt. The Crimson Bride.
FIFTY-FOUR
Saul Vought lived in an old house along one of the many winding rural roads that spider-legged out of the city and into the mountains. His closest neighbor was two miles away. Acres of forest stretched out all around the residence. The home itself was a stucco foursquare that Josie guessed was built at the turn of the twentieth century, and it looked like it hadn’t been maintained during that time. Several of the clay roof tiles had fallen away. The ones that remained were cracked and crumbling. On one side of the house, a blue tarp fluttered in the wind, lifting long enough for them to see that an entire section of the roof was completely caved in.
“How is this place not condemned?” Gretchen muttered as her SUV struggled up the last leg of the long gravel driveway. “He must have bought this place for a six-pack of beer and a high five.”
Josie laughed. The property records showed that it was owned by an estate, which probably explained why it was in such disrepair. It was common for beneficiaries to fight among themselves, leaving assets in limbo. When it came to real estate, if things lingered long enough and no one could agree on howthat real estate should be handled, parcels of land or homes could sit vacant for years. Sometimes even decades.
There were signs that the place was being brought back to life, though. Josie counted at least three new windows on the first floor. The land in front of the house had been cleared, leaving a flat expanse of dried dirt. Nearby, heaps of vegetation formed a miniature mountain. Some of it was still green but most was dead, drab and brittle. The stucco still bore the imprints of the vines and flowering climbers that had clung to it for so long that their outlines stained its dull gray surface. The scent of honeysuckle hung in the air.
A pickup truck with a hardtop on the back was parked out front. It was definitely old. Pre-infotainment center old, but it was still in better shape than the living arrangements. Gretchen parked behind it and they got out.
Josie took in the mess that awaited them as they picked their way to the front door. Five-gallon buckets filled with chunks of crumbling plaster. A pile of rotted lath. Tools scattered across the ground, forming a serpentine path toward two sawhorses. Long planks of wood lay across them, forming a rickety table. A plastic coffee container holding an assortment of screws and nails teetered on the edge of it.
“Mr. Vought?” Gretchen called. “Saul Vought?”
Josie thought she heard someone shout back from inside the house. They walked up to the storm door, and she cupped her hands around her face, peering through the screen. An empty room yawned open before her. The only evidence of activity was a couple of ladders, a worn brown tool bag on the floor and several coils of electrical wire beside it.
“Saul Vought?” she said.
A rustling came from deeper inside the house before a male voice said, “Just a minute there.”
Moments later, Vought appeared in the main room. Like the sketch Cassidy had drawn, and his inmate and driver’s license photos, he was balding. He was tall and sturdy with the kind of sinew and muscle that could never be achieved in a gym. This kind came from fighting to survive. Year after year. Though Josie had a feeling, given Saul’s generally menacing presence, he’d held his own in prison. A threadbare flannel shirt with cut-off sleeves swathed his chest. Cut-off jeans and old work boots layered in dust and dirt completed his ensemble. He stopped on the other side of the screen. Josie watched as he noted the guns at their waists. There was an almost imperceptible tightening in the muscles of his upper body. An alarm being tripped. In his hands, he held an old doorknob which he polished with a rag. “Help you?” he asked.
Josie and Gretchen held up their credentials. Unfortunately, they had no evidence other than the sketch tying Saul to the Barnes women or Dani and Cassidy—and that wasn’t enough to warrant the full might of their department on his property. At this point, all they could do was talk with him and hope he said something that would be enough to move the investigation along, toward finding Turner’s family.
Saul studied their IDs at a leisurely pace.
“We’re from the Denton Police Department,” Josie said. “We need to talk to you about Griffin Holt.”
He laughed. “That little twerp. Been a long time since I heard his name.”
“It’s been a long time since he heard your name, too,” Josie said. “I think he’d say you look pretty good for a dead guy.”
Saul’s tight smile remained in place, his face frozen save for a throbbing vein in his forehead. His hands kept working, buffing the surface of the doorknob with the rag. “Don’t know what you mean,” he finally said.
“Mind if we come in?” asked Gretchen. “We can explain. It’s kind of a long story.”
The speed of his polishing increased even as his voice came out smoothly. “Sure, sure, why not?”
He nodded toward the door handle and they let themselves in. It was only marginally cooler inside the house, but it was still a relief. Saul backed away until he stood in the center of the room, watching them like they were a couple of rattlesnakes that had slithered into his sanctuary.
Josie took a slow walk around the room, taking in the ongoing repairs. In many places, the plaster had deteriorated all the way to the lath. A container of gypsum plaster sat in the corner of the room. Some of the gaps had already been filled in and were covered with mesh, awaiting a final skim coat. A couple of different types of trowels, as well as some other tools Josie wasn’t entirely familiar with, were lined up under the gap in the wall.
“This is a cool old place,” she said. “You live here by yourself?”
She felt Saul’s eyes on her, felt the weight of his focused attention, of his wariness. “Yeah. Just me. The place belonged to some old rich guy who passed away a couple decades ago. He left it to his kids but none of them wanted it. They all lived out of state, I guess. The estate paid for maintenance for a while but that lapsed. The kids just want to get rid of it now but no one’s gonna buy it looking like this.”
Gretchen said, “They let you live here for free in exchange for fixing it up?”
From her periphery, Josie saw that Saul was polishing aggressively, the movements almost frantic. “Something like that,” he said.
Josie tapped the arm of one of the wall sconces. Though the metal itself was a dull brown, its elaborate design wasstill worthy of being admired. From the metal backplate, the arm curled twice as it extended outward, displaying ornate scrollwork. “These are originals?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Saul answered, drawing the word out.
