Page 50 of Girl, Reborn

‘Yeah, I heard about them. Even a hermitlike me gets the news.’

‘Any thoughts on them?’ Ella asked.

Dawson gripped the edge of the table likea drunk apart to fall off his chair. ‘I don’t know much. Just what the newsreported.’

Ella decided to fill in the blanks for himand see if this creature knew more than he was letting on. ‘Two men, one leftin a cornfield, one left in a dried riverbed. Both men worked on the damproject up in Bristol.’

Dawson seemed to shrink further intohimself, like a man watching his own funeral from the sidelines.

‘Jesus,’ he whispered, the word moreprayer than exclamation. ‘It's all connected, isn't it? The dam, the drought,now this? It's like the whole town's under a curse.’

‘That's what I'm trying to figure out,’Ella said. The bar top was sticky under her elbows, years of spilled drinkscreating a geologic layer of grime. ‘And I think you might be able to help. Youwere mayor when all this started. You must know something.’

Dawson barked out a laugh. ‘Knowsomething? Lady, I know everything. And that's why I'm holed up in thisgodforsaken dump like a rat in a trap.’

‘Why here?’ Ella glanced around theabandoned bar, taking in the dust-covered bottles and the faded posters on thewalls. Ghosts of better times, when the taps flowed and laughter drowned outthe jukebox. ‘Why not skip town, start fresh somewhere else?’

‘With what?’ Dawson spread his arms,encompassing the desolation. The gesture was pure theater, a remnant of thepolitician he used to be. ‘No job, no money, can't even go home without someyahoo chucking garbage through my windows. This place,’ he patted the tablelike an old friend, ‘it's all I got left. My cousin's name on the deed, so noone's looking for me here.’

Ella felt a twinge of something. Not quitepity – she’d seen too much, done too much, to waste energy on feeling sorry forfallen big shots. But there was a certain tragedy to it all. The mighty broughtlow, reduced to hiding out in the husk of their former glory.

‘Tell me about the drought,’ she pressed.There'd be time for philosophy later, preferably over a bottle of somethingstrong enough to strip paint. ‘How bad is it, really?’

Dawson's eyes took on a faraway look, likehe was seeing ghosts dance across the empty bar. ‘Bad? It's a goddamncatastrophe. Farms drying up. Businesses folding left and right. You can smellthe desperation on folks. It's like the whole town's slowly dying of thirst –and most of them blame me.’

The picture that formed wasn't pretty. Atown on its knees, people are driven to desperation by forces beyond theircontrol. It was fertile ground for the kind of rage that birthed killers.

Dawson ran a hand through his thinninghair. ‘And the worst part? We never saw it coming. The dam was supposed toregulate water flow, benefit everyone. But somewhere along the line, thingswent sideways. I've got my suspicions. Toledo and his Bristol cronies, theypulled some strings. Suddenly, the water allocation shifted. Bristol's gettingmore than their fair share, while we're left high and dry.’

‘You're saying this was intentional?’ Ellapressed.

Dawson's eyes darted around like he waschecking for eavesdroppers. ‘Can't prove it, but yeah. Toledo talked a big gameabout helping everyone, but I think he played us from the start. Knew exactlywhat he was doing. And now? Bristol's got green lawns and full reservoirs,while we're watching our town turn to dust.’

‘But killing the people behind the damwon't change anything, will it?’ she mused, more to herself than to Dawson. ‘Ifanything, it'll just make martyrs out of them.’

‘Exactly.’ Dawson nodded, a spark of hisold political acumen shining through the haze. ‘If what you’re saying is true,when whoever's doing this isn’t trying to fix anything. This is pure revenge,plain and simple.’

A chill ran down Ella's spine, settingevery nerve ending on high alert. She'd been so focused on motive, on trying tounderstand the killer's endgame, she'd missed the forest for the trees. Thiswasn't about justice or change. It was about pain. About making the peopleresponsible suffer the way Liberty Grove was suffering.

It was the kind of rage that couldn't bereasoned with, couldn't be bargained down or plea-dealed away. The kind thatwould burn the world to ashes just to watch the flames dance.

Ella leaned back. Her eyes never leftDawson's face, reading every twitch and tic like a polygraph. ‘Where were youlast night, Mr. Mayor? And this afternoon?’

‘Where do you think? Right here in thisdump.’

‘Anyone who can confirm that touchingalibi?’

‘Yeah, the security cameras out back.Still work, if you can believe it. They'll catch me sneaking out for smokes.’

Ella's eyebrow twitched. ‘I'll need to seethat footage.’

‘Knock yourself out, Agent. I've gotnothing to hide except a bunch of empty bottles.’

Somehow, Ella doubted that. She nodded,but in her gut, Ella knew Dawson wasn't their guy. Killers came in all shapesand sizes, but this broken-down shell of a man didn't have the fire in hisbelly to drown a kitten, let alone two grown men.

Just as she opened her mouth to pressfurther, Dawson's eyes flicked to the window. His face went slack, like he'dseen a ghost dancing on his front lawn. He rose out of his chair to take alook.

‘Well, I'll be damned,' he muttered. 'Andhere's me thinking you came alone.'

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