Broken Places (13 page)

Chapter Forty-four

“It all makes sense, it ties together.” Tom paced around the conference room table, and the sheriff and prosecutor swiveled their heads to follow him. Every minute he had to spend explaining the situation was wasted time. He wanted to get rolling, but everything had changed and he had to bring his boss and the prosecutor up to speed. “Meredith is alive and Scotty knows where she is. He’s been saying he has to get out of jail, he has somewhere to go, he has commitments. My bet is he’s taking care of her, supplying her with what she needs while she’s hiding.”

Sheriff Willingham ran a hand over his bristly gray hair. “Well, I admit it looks like it might be Karen Hernandez who died in the fire—”

“It
was
her,” Tom said. “She had a spinal fusion. Joanna McKendrick and Ben Hern both confirmed that. If it wasn’t her in the fire, it was a hell of a coincidence that some other woman who’d had a spinal fusion just happened to be in the Taylor house Friday morning—at the same time Karen Hernandez disappeared.”

“But that doesn’t mean Meredith’s alive,” Willingham said. “She could be dead and we just haven’t found the body yet.”

Tom leaned on the table between Willingham and the prosecutor, who faced each other. “Meredith’s wedding ring was on the corpse. Whoever put it there wanted everybody to believe Meredith was dead. Somebody went to the trouble to hide Karen Hernandez’s car. They didn’t do a very good job of it, but they managed to throw us off for a few days. Somebody also called the Taylor house with Karen’s phone
after
the house burned down, so it would look like she was still alive and we wouldn’t question the identity of the corpse. Who, besides Meredith herself, would want to fake her death?”

Sheriff Willingham wore a sour expression, as if he’d been asked to swallow something he couldn’t stomach, but he blew out a sigh and said, “Yeah, I guess it does make sense. You think Meredith killed all three of them—her husband and Karen Hernandez and Lloyd Wilson?”

“With Scotty’s help, yeah.”

“And you think she’s still around here somewhere, still in the county?”

“Seems that way to me, considering how Scotty’s been acting. If all this happened without premeditation, and I think it did, then she doesn’t have any money. She left all that expensive jewelry in her safe deposit box—if she’d been planning this, she could have sold the jewelry and had a stash of money to finance her own disappearance.”

Raymond Morton, the prosecutor, frowned and shook his head. “If Meredith really was responsible for Scotty’s sister dying, why would he help her do anything? Why would he be her friend, or lover, whatever he was?”

“He didn’t know the truth. I don’t believe anybody except Meredith and Cam knew why Denise Ragsdale didn’t make it home that night. Karen might have suspected, but she didn’t have any proof. And if she’d never voiced her suspicion to anybody, never confronted Meredith or Cam about it, she probably didn’t realize Meredith was afraid of her. It looks to me as if Karen’s visit to Mason County to see her son was what set everything in motion.”

“Meredith felt threatened,” Morton said.

“Right. She’d lived with this secret a long time, and Karen was the only other person who suspected the truth and could have exposed her. The worst thing Karen could have done was turn up on Meredith’s doorstep, but Karen apparently didn’t know she was in any danger. That’s my theory. All we know for certain is that Karen went to see Meredith Friday morning and ended up dead.”

Morton nodded. “Now what? I assume you’re going to shove the truth in Ragsdale’s face and try to make him give up Meredith.”

“He’s not going to believe it,” Willingham put in. “He’s got too big of an emotional investment in his relationship with her. He won’t believe he’s been wrong about her all this time.”

Tom dragged a chair out from the table, its legs scraping across the tile floor, and sat down. “I’ll make him believe it. Sooner or later he’ll spill the whole story and tell us where she is.”

A cell phone buzzed in the pocket of Morton’s suit jacket. He pulled out the phone, answered, and listened without comment. When he ended the call, he told Tom, “You’d better try to make that sooner rather than later. His bail’s been posted.”

“Aw, Christ. How’d his parents come up with that much money?”

“They didn’t. They came up with 10 percent and went to a bondsman this time. They’re about to spring Scotty, so if you want to question him, you’d better go do it right now.”

“You know,” Tom said, “we could make this work to our advantage. Let’s hold up his release for an hour, blame it on paperwork, keep him in custody long enough for me to tell him what I’ve found out. If he doesn’t believe Meredith was responsible for his sister’s death, or he’s not sure and he needs proof, he’ll want to hear either a confession or a denial straight from her. He’ll lead us to her.”

“On the other hand,” Morton said, “if he does believe it, he might decide not to go near her. He might want to let her rot, wherever she is.”

Tom shook his head. “If she’s still around, he’ll go to her, I’d bet on it.”

***

Rachel didn’t have enough room to stand up in the dark space under the stairs. She sat with her knees drawn to her chest, breathing in hot, stale air, and fought the urge to vomit. Waves of pain radiated from her cheekbone, intensifying with the slightest movement of her jaw. She had let the blood drain from her mouth so she wouldn’t swallow more of it, and the front of her shirt felt sticky against her chest, but at last the bleeding had stopped. The metallic smell of blood mingled with the odors of mold and her own sweat.

Why didn’t I fight harder? Why did I let this happen?
Even as Rachel berated herself, she knew she’d had no choice. If she’d kept fighting back, she would already be dead.

Where were they now? Rachel strained to make out what Lindsay and Meredith were saying but caught only fragments of their agitated exchanges, as if they were moving around, in and out of her hearing. She mopped her face with the hem of her shirt and leaned her ear against the door.

“…give me back my phone so I can call 911,” Lindsay said. “You look like you’re crashing again. You need a doctor.”

“No!” Meredith said. “…not calling anybody…don’t understand…”

“Then help me understand. Explain it to me.”

They both seemed to move farther away, and for a couple of minutes Rachel heard only the indistinct murmur of their voices. Meredith must have taken Lindsay’s cell phone, too. Rachel felt herself drifting perilously close to despair as she let go of the hope that Lindsay would summon help.

Something scraped against the door, a shadow blocked the light at the bottom. In a panic Rachel scrambled backward until she hit a wall. Then she heard a snuffling noise and realized Meredith’s dog had found her.

“Cricket, no!” Meredith yelled. “Get away from there!”

The dog whined, the shadow disappeared.

“Mom, try to stay calm,” Lindsay said. “You’ll make yourself sicker.”

Rachel curled her hands into fists, nails biting into her palms.
Think, think! There must be a way to get out of here.
But her freedom, her life, depended on Lindsay now, and Lindsay seemed as helpless against Meredith as Rachel was.

***

With Scotty Ragsdale’s paperwork conveniently misplaced and half a dozen deputies on standby for a possible surveillance and arrest operation, Tom waited alone in the conference room for the Blackwood twins to bring the prisoner over from the jail. He drummed his fingers on the pages he’d printed from Meredith’s novel and mentally reviewed recent events, reassuring himself that his theory made sense.

He was sure he’d figured out most of what had happened, but one thing continued to niggle at him: Who had gotten into Rachel’s cottage and turned on the gas without leaving any evidence of a break-in? It must have been somebody with a key, but Joanna was adamant that no extra keys were floating around.

Wait a minute.
Tom’s fingers stilled as he tried to recall exactly what Lindsay had said the night before. Something about keys. She’d been explaining why she still had a key to his house although she’d returned the one he’d given her.

You remember how I was always losing keys and Mom had to make sure we had extras.
That was it. But why would Meredith have a key to the cottage in the first place?

Tom pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Joanna again. When she answered, he said, “I need to know whether the Taylors ever stayed in the house where Rachel lives now.”

Joanna was silent a moment, then said, “I guess you won’t tell me why you’re asking that question either.”

“Sorry, I can’t. But it’s important.”

She sighed. “Meredith and Lindsay stayed there for a few days, a long time ago. Lindsay couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen at the time. Meredith and Cam had some kind of spat, I don’t remember what it was about, and I suggested they get a little distance from each other. I guess it helped, because Meredith and Lindsay went back home. Tom, what—”

“Thanks.” He hung up.

***

A few minutes later, Scotty Ragsdale slumped in the same conference room chair where the sheriff had sat not long before. Resting his cuffed hands in his lap, he fixed his gaze on the tabletop and refused to look at Tom, who sat across from him. The Blackwood twins stood guard behind Ragsdale.

“How are you feeling, Scotty?” Tom asked.

“Like you give a damn,” Ragsdale muttered.

“Well, I do, believe it or not. You’re going through a rough time. Worst time of your life, maybe—except for when your sister died.”

Ragsdale jerked his head up. “My sister’s death is none of your business.”

Tom let that go for the moment. “Your sister was friends with Meredith, wasn’t she?”

“What about it?” Ragsdale shifted in his chair, tapped one foot on the floor. “My folks been by yet? They should’ve come up with my bail by now.”

“I’m sure they’re working on it. What I was about to say is, we found a lot of CDs in Meredith’s safe deposit box when we opened it, and most of them have book manuscripts on them.”

Ragsdale narrowed his eyes, making the bags under them more pronounced. “You went through her stuff? Why?”

“We have to examine everything in a murder case. There could have been something there to point us to the killer.”

Wary now, Ragsdale watched Tom but didn’t respond.

“Anyway,” Tom went on, “like I was saying, we found a bunch of discs with her writing on them. And one of them stands out. It’s different.” He paused and leaned forward over the table. “Did you know Meredith was writing a book about her experiences as a V
ISTA
?”

Ragsdale drew in a deep breath and released it, his shoulders rising and falling, and he seemed to relax a little. “Yeah, she told me about it. She said she was going to write the truth. What it was really like.”

“Didn’t you read it? I know the two of you shared your writing.”

Ragsdale shook his head. “She said it was just for herself. Things she had to work out for her own peace of mind. She didn’t want anybody to see it.” He threw a scornful look at Tom. “She sure as hell wouldn’t want
you
to read it.”

“Ah,” Tom said, hoping he sounded surprised. “That explains it, then. Why you didn’t hold it against her. You didn’t know the truth. Or maybe you knew, but you forgave her?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ragsdale was starting to fidget, flexing his shoulders, squirming in his seat. “Forgave her for what?”

Tom sighed. “I guess you really don’t know. I hate to break it to you, after you were friends with her for so many years.”

“Break
what
to me? You know what I think? I think you’re jerking me around.”

Tom looked down at the printed sheets in front of him on the table. “I was going to let you read this, but maybe that’s not a good idea after all.”

“Read
what
, damn it?” Ragsdale jumped to his feet, but the Blackwoods were on him in an instant, shoving him back into the chair. “What is that? Just
tell me
, for god’s sake. Cut the bullshit.”

“It looks like the last chapter Meredith worked on before she died. At least, it’s the last backup she made. It’s the chapter about your sister’s death.”

Ragsdale’s mouth opened, closed again.

“If what she wrote is the truth—Well, I believe you have a right to know. That is, if you think you can face it.”

“You’re full of shit, Bridger. There’s nothing Meredith could have written that I’d be afraid to read. I lived through it, remember?”

“All right then.” Tom turned the pages to face Ragsdale and slid them across the table.

Ragsdale used both cuffed hands to pull the papers closer. He leaned over and began reading. Tom settled back in his chair to watch Ragsdale’s reactions.

The first pages of the chapter brought a sour smile at one point, a shake of the head at another. As he neared the end, his face went slack and pale. By the time he finished, he sat rigid in his chair, staring at the last page, all emotion blasted off his face by shock. The sound of his rapid breathing filled the quiet room.