Broken Places (9 page)
This time he shook off her touch, refusing to be calmed. “I don’t want my mother dragged into this. She has nothing to do with it.”
“Did she have any kind of grudge against the Taylors?” Tom asked. “Something that started when they were young?”
“No, for god’s sake. My mother is a realist and a pragmatist. She doesn’t hold grudges, not even for four weeks, much less four decades. Now I’ve said all I’m going to say. I’m leaving.”
Tom didn’t try to stop him when he rose, stalked to the door, and pulled it open. “Jessie?” Hern said. “Let’s go.”
The lawyer glanced from Hern to Tom and back again. She picked up her big black leather satchel from the floor and swung it onto her shoulder. She plucked a card from an outer pocket of the bag and handed it to Tom. “If you have further questions for my client, please contact me on my cell phone.”
“I’m sure I will have further questions.”
Hern was already out the door, his heavy footsteps echoing up the hall. His lawyer hurried after him.
Tom fingered the business card as he stood in the conference room doorway, watching them go. How much of what he’d just heard could he believe, and how much was pure bullshit? And why was the subject of his mother enough to send Hern running for the door?
Rachel scrambled over the rail fence, a length of rope in one hand, and dropped into the paddock fifteen feet from the snorting billy goat. The animal stamped a hoof and lowered his head, swinging his long, curved horns back and forth. On the far side of the paddock, four young horses bunched together against the fence and whinnied in alarm.
The goat lunged at Rachel.
She heard Holly’s strangled little scream from outside the paddock.
Rachel jumped out of the goat’s path at the same moment she tossed a loop of rope over his head. He reared, kicking at the rope, and Rachel stumbled and fought to stay on her feet. Digging in her heels, she shouted, “Somebody get in here and help me!”
She took her eyes off the goat long enough to see two young farmhands swing over the fence, both holding lassoes. The goat bolted toward them and one of the men leapt back onto the fence.
“Don’t you dare!” Joanna yelled at him. She shoved him off the fence and into the paddock. “I’m ashamed of you. Rope him like a horse!”
The goat swiveled back toward Rachel. Lowering his head, he charged. The farmhands, one on each side, tossed their lassoes around his neck and held on. Caught at the center of a tight triangle, the goat stamped and snarled.
“Just hold your ground—” Rachel gasped a breath. “—let him calm down.” Sweat trickled into her eyes, blurring her vision, but she didn’t dare take a hand off the rope to wipe it away. The stink of urine and hormones rising off the goat made her gag.
Waiting out the animal’s fury, Rachel glanced toward the fence. Holly stood with both hands clamped over her mouth. Joanna had climbed to the top rail, ready to get into the paddock and help if needed. Lindsay looked on, hands stuck in her jeans pockets, face expressionless. And Tom had appeared out of nowhere and stood next to Lindsay.
For a second Tom’s eyes connected with Rachel’s, he gave her an encouraging grin, and she burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation. The panting goat tugged at the ropes.
After a few minutes of fighting the restraints, the billy was tired enough to be cooperative. Rachel and the two farmhands led him out of the horse paddock past the four terrified mares. His hooves clacked on the pavement as he trotted down the road to the paddock where Joanna had temporarily installed Meredith Taylor’s orphaned herd of five nannies and the billy. Holly had stayed behind to calm the horses, but Joanna, Tom, and Lindsay brought up the rear of the procession.
When the billy returned to his harem, the females rushed to greet him, sniffing his malodorous body and licking his face.
No accounting for a woman’s taste in men,
Rachel thought. She swung the gate shut.
“A fence like this is not going to hold him,” she told Joanna. “He’ll be jumping it every day and terrorizing your horses.”
Joanna threw up her hands and looked to Lindsay. “They’re yours now. What do you plan to do with them?”
“Oh…” Lindsay’s shoulders rose and fell in an indifferent shrug. She cocked her head and grinned at Tom. “You want them? You could let them run loose with your sheep. And you’d get some milk out of the deal. I can teach you how to make goat cheese.”
Tom shook his head. “I’m not interested in keeping goats.”
“Come on, Tommy,” Lindsay coaxed. “My mom loved her goats. I’d feel better if I knew they had a good home. Won’t you at least think about it?”
“You’ll have to find somewhere else for them.” Tom’s voice had a flatness that, in Rachel’s experience, always meant the subject was permanently closed. He turned his back on Lindsay and asked Rachel, “Can you spare a minute, or do you have something else exciting on your schedule?”
“Sure.” She had a few things to say to him too.
“Let’s walk.” Tom gestured toward the field beyond the paddock.
At the same time, Joanna took Lindsay by the arm and said, “Let’s go over to the stable and check on that pregnant mare of mine.”
Walking into the field, Rachel wiped sweat from her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m a mess. I think I’ve even picked up his odor.”
Tom grinned and pulled a clean white handkerchief from his pants pocket. “Has anybody told you how cute you are when you’re herding goats?”
“Not lately,” she said, laughing. She took the handkerchief he offered. “I haven’t wrangled livestock since my clinical training with farm animals in vet college.”
They strolled through cornflowers and Queen Anne’s lace while Rachel blotted perspiration from her face. The shade of a pecan tree up ahead looked inviting.
“Did the locksmith come out and change your locks?” Tom asked.
In an instant the terror of the previous night flooded back, and an involuntary shudder moved through Rachel. “Yes, this morning. Has the report come back on the fingerprints?”
“Yeah, but it didn’t give us anything useful. All the prints belong to you and Holly. I’m assuming the intruder wore gloves.”
Rachel expected Tom to once more raise the question of whether she’d given out keys to the house, or to suggest that a door had been left open, but he did neither. Instead, he went on, “I talked to that mob of reporters outside headquarters and told them as clearly as I could that you and Holly didn’t see anything Friday and you can’t help us identify the killer. I’ve told everybody in the department to spread the word locally, but I don’t know if it’ll get through to the one person who needs to hear it. He probably won’t believe it anyway. As long as he thinks you might know something, you’re going to be in danger.”
“Believe me, I’m well aware of that. I won’t be able to relax until you’ve made an arrest.” Rachel drew a shaky breath. “At least he can’t get into the house again.”
“I don’t feel good about the two of you staying there at night. Daytime, with other people around, that’s one thing, but a bunch of new locks won’t keep you safe at night if somebody’s determined to get in.” Tom placed an arm around her shoulders. “I want to know that you’re somewhere safe. Come stay with me. Please.”
Rachel stepped away, forcing him to remove his arm. She wished she could sink back into the affectionate relationship with Tom that she loved, but she’d begun to feel as if Lindsay were standing between them all the time. “Holly talked to Brandon early this morning,” she said, “and he’s going to sleep in our living room every night until—Well, as long as necessary.”
Tom nodded. “All right. There might be times when I need him on duty in the evening, but I’ll make sure he gets to your place before bedtime.”
Reaching the shade of the pecan tree, Rachel halted and faced him. “Do you think this will drag out a long time?”
“I hope not, but…” His grim expression offered no reassurance.
“By the way,” Rachel asked, “were you looking for something in my bedroom last night?”
Tom frowned, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“The room was searched, so I assume you were looking for something. Did you find it?”
“We didn’t search your bedroom. You said the intruder never went upstairs.”
“I’m pretty sure somebody searched it, between the time I left and the time I went back this morning.”
“No, you’re mistaken about that. None of us went upstairs after you left. Well, except to use the bathroom, I guess.”
Had she imagined it all—the disorder in her closet, the jeans that weren’t where she’d left them, the subtle signs that her underwear drawer had been searched? For the last few hours she’d debated the question with herself, but she kept coming back to the same certainty. “No, I’m not mistaken. Somebody went through my closet and my dresser drawers.”
This wasn’t her Tom she was talking to. This was a blank-faced cop who betrayed no hint of his reaction to what Rachel was saying. “Do you think something was stolen? Do you want to file a complaint against one of my people?”
“No, of course not,” Rachel said. “Nothing’s missing, as far as I can tell. I can’t imagine either of the Blackwood twins going through my underwear.”
“You think it was me?”
“I—No. If you say you didn’t, of course I believe you, but—” She knew this might backfire on her, but she blundered on anyway. “Joanna says there aren’t any other keys except the ones she keeps in her office, so I have to wonder who has easy access to her office.”
“If nothing was stolen, I’m not sure what you want me to do.”
Stung by his indifference, Rachel said, “I guess there’s nothing you can do.” Wanting to get away from him before he challenged her again, she turned to leave.
“Wait a minute.”
Rachel looked back at him.
“I don’t want to believe this,” Tom said, “but I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve been hiding things from me.”
Rachel went cold through and through. What had Lindsay told him? What had she found out? “Hiding things?” Her voice sounded weak. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ben Hern’s legal problem in New York. Did you know about it?”
Relief that he wasn’t talking about her own past almost overwhelmed her concern for Ben. “He lost his temper,” she said with a shrug. “He got into a fight with some guy and bloodied his nose. So what?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The disappointment in his eyes shamed her. She wanted to say something that would erase that look, but she was not going to apologize for protecting Ben. “Is it really important? How many men do you know who have done something like that?”
Tom didn’t answer, but his face tightened as if he were struggling to hold his temper in check. He wouldn’t take anything she said seriously. Rachel felt herself retreating into that closed-off space where she was invulnerable to anyone’s emotional demands.
“I was afraid you would use it against him,” she said, hearing her voice go cool and even. “I can see I was right.”
She walked away before he could answer.
Watching Rachel go, Tom wondered whether she knew the whole story about Ben Hern and the girl in New York. If she did, and she’d chosen to withhold the information from Tom, he would feel doubly betrayed. Not only had she given her trust and friendship to a man who didn’t deserve it, but at the same time she didn’t believe Tom was capable of doing his job professionally and impartially.
Her maddeningly indirect tale of her bedroom being searched was more proof that she didn’t respect or trust Tom. Why hadn’t she come right out and accused Lindsay of snooping, instead of dancing around the idea? Because she thought Tom wouldn’t treat it seriously? Or because it wasn’t true? Ordinarily, Tom took everything Rachel said at face value, believed her without hesitation, but now he was starting to doubt her judgment and her honesty.
He strode off toward the stable in search of Joanna. He found her in a double stall, brushing the mane of a heavily pregnant chestnut mare while Lindsay looked on. Fresh straw on the floor gave off a sweet, clean fragrance.
When Joanna saw Tom, she paused with brush in hand. “Is everything okay?”
“Lindsay, will you step outside?” Tom said. “I want to talk to Joanna alone.”
“Wow,” Lindsay said, “somebody’s in a bad mood.”
That’s all I need, more crap from you.
“Will you step outside?”
She gave him a tight little smile. “Sure. I’ll get out of your way.”
She pushed open the stall door and walked out of the stable.
Tom, watching Lindsay cross the road toward the barn, considered the possibility that she had gone into Rachel’s house early that morning after the crime scene was processed and everybody left. He knew she wouldn’t hesitate to do it if she believed she had reason. But she had no reason that Tom could see—except a jealous desire to find out more about the woman who had replaced her in Tom’s life.
Joanna broke into his thoughts. “Bad mood doesn’t quite cover it. You look ready to throttle somebody.”
“Sorry.” The stable was hot even with a ventilation fan stirring the air, and Tom reached in his pocket for his handkerchief so he could mop the sweat off his forehead. Then he remembered Rachel had the handkerchief. “Your set of keys to Rachel’s new locks—Be sure you put them where nobody can get to them, okay?”
“I’m way ahead of you. They’re already in my safe.”
“How many people know the combination?”
“My lawyer and me, nobody else.” Joanna resumed brushing, pulling the bristles through the horse’s mane with enough force to make the animal snort and stamp. “Easy, girl, easy,” she crooned, stroking the mare’s head.
“Look,” Tom said, “I need to follow up on a few things with you. I want to know everything you can remember about Cam and Meredith’s relationship with Karen Hernandez.”
Joanna had gone still, watching him with apprehensive eyes. “I thought you were focusing on Scotty Ragsdale. You can’t possibly think Karen had something to do with the murders. That’s laughable, Tom.”
Tom saw a ripple of tension move down the horse’s back in response to Joanna’s sharp tone. “Let me decide that,” he said.
“But why on earth would she…?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Tom said, forcing himself to be patient. “Will you tell me what I need to know?”
Joanna released a long sigh. “All right. Can I get my work done while we talk? There’s a mess in the tack room that’s been there since the kids’ riding class yesterday afternoon.” When Tom agreed, she gave the horse’s flank a light tap. “Go on, Marcella. Finish your dinner.”
The mare shuffled over to a bin attached to a wall and dipped her head into it. When she started chewing, Tom caught the aroma of fresh oats.
He and Joanna walked down the wide center corridor past empty stalls and into the tack room. A pile of orange tabby kittens, sleeping on a blanket in a corner, didn’t stir when they came in.
“I can’t believe the mess they leave things in after riding class,” Joanna said, crossing to a wooden table that held a jumble of halters and bridles.
Tom, leaning against the table, prompted, “Karen Hernandez and the Taylors?”
“I don’t know what you want to hear. It’s been forty years, for heaven’s sake. How could these murders be related to anything that happened that long ago? People don’t hold grudges that long.”
“What kind of grudge would Karen have against the Taylors?”
“I didn’t say she had a grudge! I just meant that even if she did, how could it possibly lead to murder?”
“You told me Karen tried to take Cam away from Meredith. I want to hear more about that.”
Joanna’s shoulders slumped and her hands stilled, fingers enmeshed in the leather straps of the halters. “Meredith loved Cam from the first second she laid eyes on him. And I believe he loved her. Karen…like I told you before, she was bored. The V
ISTA
s were outsiders, we weren’t supposed to get personally involved with any of the local people. That’s why I quit early. The CAP director found out I was seeing Dave McKendrick and he gave me an ultimatum, stay away from Dave or leave V
ISTA
. I told Dave and he said to hell with it, quit now and let’s get married.”
Tom steered her back to the subject. “You were talking about Karen and the Taylors.”
Joanna worked on the tangled straps and buckles of two halters but didn’t seem to be having any success in separating them. “I’ve already told you everything I know. Karen was just having fun.”
“Did she ever sleep with Cam?” Tom said.
Giving up on the halters, Joanna tossed them back onto the table. “No, I’m pretty sure she didn’t. She just about drove Meredith crazy, though, while she was trying.”
Tom picked up the halters she hadn’t been able to separate and started working on them. “Meredith got what she wanted—she married Cam.”
“Yes, of course she did. So what’s the point in digging up all that old stuff? It has no bearing on the present.”
Tom handed her the two halters, now separated, and she hung them on pegs. “Do you know if Karen and the Taylors had any contact at all over the years between then and now?”
“I’m positive they didn’t. And I’m sure Karen never gave another thought to Cam after she left here. She went back to Georgetown for her second year of law school, then she married Jorge Hernandez. He was a young Cuban doctor, an immigrant from a rich family, and I swear, he was the best-looking thing. I went to their wedding. It didn’t last, but Karen was crazy about him when she married him. Cam never meant anything to her.”
“Did she talk to you about the Taylors while she was here visiting her son last week?”
Joanna shrugged. “Just briefly.”
“Did she seem to be having any problems with them? Current problems, I mean. Any disagreements?”
“What? No. Well, she did say Cam had asked her for money. But she laughed that off. I don’t think it particularly bothered her. Why would it?”
Joanna apparently didn’t know about the blackmail attempt. Tom didn’t want to press her further and end up revealing what could have been Karen Hernandez’s motive for murdering the Taylors.
***
He found Lindsay outside on a bench, directly under the open tack room window.
“Aw, Christ,” Tom said. He could kick himself for not realizing she would find a way to listen in on his conversation with Joanna. “How long have you been sitting here?”
“A couple of minutes.” Lindsay looked up and gave him a wry grin. “I didn’t learn anything new.”
Tom sat on the bench beside her. “Tell me something,” he said. “Did you go to Rachel’s house early this morning?”
She shifted to face him, her blue eyes placid. “No. Why would I?”
“Rachel thinks somebody went into the cottage when she wasn’t there and searched her bedroom.”
“Tommy,” Lindsay said, outrage bringing a blush of pink to her cheeks, “is she claiming I was in her house? Is she accusing me of stealing something?”
Lindsay’s face was a perfect picture of wronged innocence, but Tom knew how easy it was for her to assume that expression. “No,” he said, “nothing’s missing. She hasn’t accused you of anything.”
“But she somehow managed to make you suspicious enough that you’re sitting here asking me about it.”
“It’s not as if you aren’t capable of it.”
“Tommy!”
“Look, I’m not going to argue with you. Just remember that I’m watching you.”
The eruption of anger and self-defense he expected didn’t come. Lindsay was silent a moment, eyes downcast. Then she touched his knee for a second, quickly withdrew her hand, and said, “I want to ask you something, and please don’t get angry at me.”
Oh god. Now what?
Tom looked at her, waiting.
“How well do you know Rachel? How much do you really know about her?”
“I’m not going to discuss Rachel with you.” He rose to leave.
“Tommy, wait a minute,” Lindsay said. “Please.”
Against his better judgment, he paused.
“You may not want to hear this,” she said, “but I have an obligation to give you my professional opinion. I don’t believe there was an intruder in that house last night. I think somebody who lives there left the gas on and the back door open.”
“It’s like Karen Hernandez just vanished,” Dennis Murray told Tom back at headquarters. Seated in front of Tom’s desk, Dennis pulled off his wire-rimmed glasses, held them up to the light, and used a handkerchief to clean the lenses. “No sightings of her car, nobody at her apartment—I got the DC cops to send somebody over there and check—and her cell phone hasn’t been used since Friday afternoon.”
“Afternoon?” Tom asked. “That was after both the Taylors were killed. Who did she call?”
“That’s the most interesting part of all this,” Dennis said. “She called the Taylors’ number at home. She was about forty-five miles northeast of here at the time. The call didn’t go through, of course. By then the house and everything in it was burned to the ground.”
“Hunh.” Tom swiveled his chair to face the windows. The sun hung low in the sky, and the billowing clouds glowed pink and gold. “If she really did make the call, she could have been setting up an alibi for herself. If somebody killed her, he might have been trying to throw us off by making it look like she was still alive.”
“Her secretary hasn’t heard from her. But there’s an important meeting on her schedule for Monday morning. We’ll see if she shows up. Meanwhile, we’ve got the bulletin out on her car.”
Tom nodded. Waiting patiently wasn’t one of his talents, but they were doing all they could to find Karen Hernandez. He swiveled to face Dennis again. “Why don’t you go home? Spend some time with your kids before the weekend’s over.”
After Dennis left, Tom walked down the hall to the evidence room and removed Meredith Taylor’s manuscript CD from the safe. Now that Tom knew Cam had been blackmailing Ben Hern, he saw Hern as a stronger suspect than ever, but the danger to her son also gave Karen a solid motive. Whatever her outward reaction had been, Tom didn’t believe for a second that a mother who loved her child would laugh off a threat to ruin his career and an attempt to extort money from him.
Joanna’s description of the youthful rivalry between Meredith and Karen made him wonder if Meredith had included it in her book. Although decades had passed with no contact, the past might shed some light on the way Karen and the Taylors interacted when they’d met again.
Back in his office, with the CD file open on his computer screen, he clicked to chapter two. Not much of interest there, just descriptions of the way Mason County’s poor lived and a scene where the V
ISTA
s talked about plans and priorities and plotted to work around the restrictions imposed on them by local politicians and the directors of the Community Action Program itself. The character named Chad came across as Joanna had described the young Cam Taylor: energetic, enthusiastic, full of ideas, a natural leader. Magnetic. At that point, the narrator—Meredith, Tom assumed—thought everything was perfect between her and Chad. The chapter ended with an overwritten love scene that made sex on a lumpy mattress sound like a romp in paradise.
I fell asleep in his arms,
Meredith had written,
knowing that I could face anything, endure any hardship, with Chad at my side.
Tom kept going, skimming over the narrator’s homesickness, her guilt about secretly receiving money from her mother and aunt when the V
ISTA
s were supposed to live on their small government stipends and experience poverty as the “target group” did.
“Target group?
”
Tom muttered. He was astonished by the vanity of these young, naive outsiders who thought they were fit to tell grown men and women how to live.
He quickly spotted the character who represented Joanna. Another character, a local girl called Donna who became involved in plans for the outdoor play about the Melungeons, might be Denise Ragsdale, Scotty’s doomed older sister.
Having never met the other V
ISTA
s, Tom wasn’t sure at first which character was supposed to be Karen Hernandez—Karen Richardson back then. By chapter four, though, Meredith mentioned that the girl named Celia had taken a break between her first and second years of law school to spend a year in V
ISTA
. Celia, tall, pretty, and dark-haired, was the only budding lawyer mentioned, so Tom tagged her as Karen. A little farther into the book, he came upon a scene in which the four V
ISTA
s ate dinner at the home of a Community Action Program employee. After the meal, they talked into the night and danced to the rock music that the local radio station never played.
***
Wondering where Chad had gone, I walked into the kitchen. The sight that greeted me made me feel as if I was dropping into a deep, dark pit. Celia was leaning against the refrigerator door with her arms wrapped around Chad’s neck. He had his hands under her skirt, cupping her buttocks and pulling her against him. I could see their tongues moving in and out of each other’s mouths as they kissed.
I must have made some sound, because Chad looked around at me. I was so shocked that I ran out the back door, wanting nothing more than to get in my car and drive until I was far away from there.
Chad ran after me and caught up with me before I could get into the car. “Hey,” he said. He wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Slow down, let me explain.”
He tried to make me turn around, but I couldn’t face him. At the same time, I couldn’t break away from him. I felt like a prisoner in his arms, and so ashamed of my weakness.
“Celia doesn’t mean anything to me,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re the only one I love.”
“Then why—” I felt like I was choking. I couldn’t stop myself from crying, and I was humiliated to let him see me like that. “Why were you—”
“She came on to me,” he said, “and I had a moment of weakness. Forgive me? Please?”
He went on that way, sounding so contrite that he wore down my resistance in no more than a few minutes. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to be convinced it would never happen again.
We went back to my house together, and Chad made love to me slowly and sweetly, and I tried to cleanse my mind of the scene I had come upon earlier.
***
Tom closed the file and removed the CD from the computer. He would read more later, but right now he didn’t have the stomach for it. The manuscript might be disguised as fiction, but it felt real, and reading the account of Meredith’s youthful humiliation at the hands of the man she later married felt like voyeurism.
Did any of this relate to the murders, or was he just wasting time reading it? The big question was whether Karen Hernandez, a respected attorney with everything to lose, would commit double murder because her son was being blackmailed. Most people were capable of impulsive acts of violence if they were pushed hard enough. Maybe she hadn’t gone to the Taylor house with murder in mind, but Tom could see how an argument might have escalated out of control. But how could she have found Cam and killed him? Ben Hern was the only one who had known exactly where Cam was.
Caught up in his thoughts, Tom took the CD back to the evidence room and locked it in the safe.
The incident at Rachel’s house the night before raised a whole new set of questions. It made sense to assume that the person who had tried to kill Rachel and Holly was the same one who murdered the Taylors and that he was trying to eliminate witnesses. Lindsay, though, wanted Tom to believe Rachel had staged the entire thing.
Recognizing that Lindsay was motivated by jealousy, he should probably discount everything she said. And yet—Tom had examined the doors and windows at Rachel’s house himself, and he hadn’t seen the slightest sign of a break-in. If he hadn’t known Rachel personally, all his instincts as a cop would have made him suspect immediately that the incident was staged.
How well did he really know Rachel? She didn’t like to talk about her family, especially her dead parents, so he’d learned next to nothing about her background. She had a maddening habit of withdrawing emotionally, the way she had after the break-in and today when they were arguing. Every relationship had trouble spots, but Rachel’s silence about her past was a lot bigger than a bump in the road. Why, though, would she fake something like an attempt to kill her and Holly? Purely to draw suspicion away from Ben Hern?
Tom didn’t know. He couldn’t be certain what Rachel was thinking and feeling and he couldn’t predict what she would do.
Lindsay, on the other hand, was a known quantity. He could see her stealing a key from Joanna’s office and poking around in Rachel’s house. It was the kind of thing she might do out of jealousy. But she would never own up to it.
This petty squabbling between the two women was a distraction he didn’t need. Until he uncovered the whole truth, the only safe assumption was that the person who murdered the Taylors had also tried to kill Rachel and Holly. The killer was still nearby and posed an imminent danger to anyone in his way.
“Dr. Goddard?” A young woman with a bright red smile rose from a chair in the animal hospital’s waiting area and rushed toward Rachel.
Behind her, a man wielded a professional video camera with a cable news network’s logo.
Rachel groaned inwardly. It was barely eight o’clock on Monday morning and she and Holly had just walked through the door, ready to begin the work day. The sight of a reporter coming at her made her want to turn around and walk right back out again.
“May I have a minute of your time?” the reporter asked.
Rachel had seen her on TV, and it felt weird to see her in the flesh, dressed in a stylish pants suit, with her dark hair falling to her shoulders in sculpted waves. Rachel couldn’t help staring at the woman’s vividly painted lips and unnaturally white teeth.
She gave Holly a hand signal to move on, out of the reporter’s range. “I don’t have any information to give you about the Taylors,” she told the woman. “I didn’t see or hear anything.”
The reporter’s smile died like a light being switched off, replaced in an instant by an expression of deep sympathy. “This must be a difficult experience, losing both Mr. and Mrs. Taylor in such horrifying circumstances.”
Was the camera running? Rachel couldn’t be sure, but the lens was aimed at her, so she assumed it was recording. “I’m sure it’s a terrible time for their family and friends,” she said, “and my sympathy goes out to them, but I barely knew either of them. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to work.”
Rachel walked away, but the reporter and camera man stayed with her. “You found Mr. Taylor’s body in the woods, didn’t you?”
Rachel stopped and looked at the reporter. “Where did you hear that?”
“From many different sources. Although Captain Bridger discounted it, most local people believe you’re a key witness in the case. Some say that you might be able to identify the killer. I’ve also heard that you had a break-in at your house Saturday night, and it might be connect—”
“It’s not true,” Rachel said. “I didn’t see the killer. I can’t identify him. Now I’d appreciate it if the two of you left the building.”
She strode past the main desk, where Shannon, the young receptionist, stood transfixed by the sight of the celebrity journalist. Inside her office, Rachel closed the door and leaned against it.
Why were people spreading that story? Didn’t they realize they were endangering both her and Holly? Was that what they wanted—more violence?
Now she had to worry about what the reporter would say on the air. The truth didn’t matter, denials counted for nothing. If a newscaster said on national television that Rachel might have seen the killer, everybody would believe it.
She pulled on her white lab coat, determined to concentrate on work and put everything else out of her mind. She and Holly were safe here, and tonight they would be secure at home, with all the doors and windows bolted and Brandon bedding down on the couch as he had the night before. They were going to be all right, and Tom would find and arrest the Taylors’ killer soon.
Rachel and the two other vets on duty had back-to-back appointments all morning, and she quickly immersed herself in the work she loved. She was at the front desk saying goodbye to an exuberant collie pup and his owner when Shannon told her she had a personal call.
“Take a message,” Rachel said. “I’ll call back at lunchtime.”
“She’s kind of insisting.” Shannon made an apologetic face. “She says to tell you it’s Janet Shaw.”
The name startled Rachel. Janet was the business manager at the animal hospital where she used to work. Why would she be calling?
“I’ll take it.” Rachel hurried into her office and grabbed the receiver of her desk phone. “Janet? Hi. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks, but I just had a weird phone call about you.”
“What? Who was it?”
“Some woman who wanted information about you. She said she was with the Virginia Crime Lab and it had to do with a murder investigation.”
For a second Rachel was too stunned to respond. Lindsay.
Who else could it have been?
The woman had gone off the deep end. “Did she give you her name?”
“Johnson. Ann Johnson.”
“Yeah, right,” Rachel muttered. To Janet she said, “That’s not her real name and she had no right to call you. What did you tell her?”
“I didn’t tell her a damned thing. But get this—she
threatened
me. Said I’d be in a lot of trouble if I withheld information. I told her if anybody wanted to ask me questions they’d have to show up in person and produce a subpoena.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said.
“Can I ask you what’s going on? Does this have something to do with that politician’s daughter who was murdered down there?”
“It’s a long story,” Rachel said. “But, really, the woman who called you was just snooping. Nobody’s investigating me. If she calls again, please don’t talk to her, and please let me know about it. Okay?”
“Sure.” Janet paused. “This sounds pretty wacky, Rachel.”
Rachel sighed.
You ought to try it from my vantage point.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry you were bothered, but thanks for calling. Take care.”
Rachel hung up, buffeted by a storm of anger and frustration. This was too much. This went beyond simple jealousy and curiosity. If Lindsay discovered certain key pieces of information about Rachel’s background and refused to stay quiet, she could bring a world of hurt to people Rachel wanted to protect. She had to find a way to stop Lindsay.
Tom knew something was wrong as soon as he saw Lloyd Wilson’s two dogs. Instead of trotting over to greet Tom and Brandon when the cruiser pulled into the driveway, the dogs huddled together against the front door of Wilson’s house. No sign of the old man, but his truck sat in the driveway.
Uneasy, but not sure why, Tom got out and stood looking at the dogs. The shrill song of cicadas in the nearby woods rose and fell, rose and fell.
Tom had come out here to get Wilson and take him back to headquarters to give a written statement about the cars he’d seen at the Taylor house the morning of the murders, as well as his many sightings of Scotty Ragsdale’s car in the past. He hadn’t called in advance because Wilson was contrary enough to disappear if he decided he didn’t want to get any further involved. Tom had brought Brandon along in case he needed any help in overcoming Wilson’s objections.
Brandon asked quietly, “Something feel off to you?”
“Yeah.” Tom unsnapped his holster, drew his pistol. “Go around back. I’ll try the front door.”
Tom advanced slowly. Brandon trotted around the side of the house.
The dogs started whining when Tom approached. As he mounted the steps, they scrambled to their feet, nails scraping the planks. They pressed against each other, their eyes on Tom, their tails tucked between their legs.
“Hey, girls,” Tom whispered. “What’s wrong? You know me. It’s okay.”
They erupted into sharp, loud barks.
“Hush,” Tom said. “Hush now. Quiet down.”
The dogs went on barking, not at Tom but at the door. When one threw back her head and began to howl, the other joined in.
Jesus Christ.
Anybody in the house was already aware that visitors had arrived. He had to act fast.
He wrenched open the screen door, grabbed the knob of the main door. Unlocked. He threw the door open, raised his pistol in a two-handed grip and stepped inside. Across the living room, a man appeared in the kitchen doorway, gun raised and aimed at Tom. Jolted, his heart thudding, Tom tightened his finger on the trigger. A split-second later he realized it was Brandon looking back at him.
Tom pulled in a deep steadying breath. At the same moment, something on the floor to his right caught his eye. “Aw, Christ,” he groaned. The crumpled body of Lloyd Wilson lay wedged between couch and table. “God damn it all.”
Wilson was face-down, one arm under his body, the other spread into a pool of blood beneath the table. Crouching, Tom felt the old man’s neck for a pulse, then looked up at Brandon and shook his head. Wilson hadn’t been dead long. The body had barely begun to cool, and the spilled blood still had the sheen of liquid.
The dogs howled at the screen door. Tom rose and closed the main door. He tried his cell phone, couldn’t get a signal, and went to the kitchen to use Wilson’s telephone to summon Dr. Lauter and Dennis Murray.
The dogs bayed nonstop from the porch. When he finished his call, Tom checked their bowls in a corner of the kitchen and found a smear of canned food in the bottom of each. He touched a finger to it. It felt fresh and moist.
“The dogs were fed sometime in the last couple of hours,” Tom said. He grabbed a dish towel from a counter and wiped his finger clean. “Lloyd was shot after they finished eating. Damn it, I wish I’d gotten his statement down on paper two days ago, even if I had doubts about it. Now all we have are my notes on what he told me.”
Tom retrieved his crime scene kit from the trunk of the cruiser, but he didn’t want to do anything inside the house until Gretchen Lauter had seen the body. He and Brandon settled on the steps to wait. The two dogs pushed against them, whining.
“What are we going to do about his animals?” Brandon asked. He scratched and patted one of the dogs. “We can’t just leave them here.”
“Lloyd’s sister lives down the road.” Tom gave his attention to the other dog. “I think they got them from her when they were puppies. She’ll probably be willing to take them. The chickens too.”
“Somebody’s sure trying hard to get rid of all the witnesses,” Brandon said.
“The fact that Lloyd saw the cars at the Taylor house Friday morning points us toward two people—three, actually, since we’re not sure whether he saw Hern’s car or his mother’s. I told Dennis to have somebody pick up Ben Hern and take him back to headquarters for questioning. After we get things underway here, you and I are going to take these dogs over to Lloyd’s sister and break the news to her. Then we’ll pick up Scotty Ragsdale and take him in for a talk.”
“What about Hern’s mother?”
“We’ll keep looking for her,” Tom said. “She’s either in this mess up to her eyeballs or she’s lying dead somewhere.”
Under the merciless summer sun, Scotty Ragsdale was chopping firewood. Tom and Brandon rounded the side of the house and stood watching as Ragsdale raised an ax and brought it down on a thick circle of tree trunk. The wood didn’t split. The ax blade lodged deep inside it.
“Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit,” Ragsdale muttered. He yanked on the ax handle, worked it back and forth. When it broke free, Ragsdale staggered backward. Sweat poured down his face, and his soaked tee shirt clung to his body as if he’d just climbed out of a pool. He wobbled on his feet when he approached the chunk of wood again.
“Oh, man,” Brandon whispered. “He’s flying.”
Removing his sunglasses and tucking them into the pocket of his uniform shirt, Tom answered quietly, “Yeah, he’s high on something. If it’s meth, he might do almost anything. Be careful. Don’t let him get anywhere near your gun.”
What had driven Scotty back to drugs after he’d been clean for years? Grief for Meredith? Or guilt over killing her?
Ragsdale heard their footsteps and spun around, eyes wide. His dilated pupils had reduced his irises to narrow rings of brown. “What’re you doing, sneaking up on me?” he demanded. “Huh? Spying on me.”
Tom raised both hands, palms out. “We need you to come with us to headquarters so we can ask you a few questions. Just calm down—”
“
Calm down?
” Ragsdale raised the ax to shoulder height and advanced on them. “You tell me to calm down, when—when—” He seemed to lose the train of thought. He shook his head hard as if to clear it. Finally he sputtered, “
You
calm down. I’m not going anywhere.”
“All right,” Tom said, keeping his voice quiet and even. “We can talk here. Wouldn’t you like to go in the house and cool off, have something cold to drink?”
“Cold. Yeah.” Ragsdale nodded. “Winter coming on. Gotta get my logs cut.” He turned back to the chopping block.
“Scotty,” Tom said, “look at me. Listen to me. I need to ask you about Lloyd Wilson. Did you see Lloyd this morning?”
Ragsdale whirled to face Tom, brandishing the ax. “Don’t you say that name to me. I don’t want to hear that name. You understand me?”
“Take it easy, Scotty. We need to talk about this.”
“Talk, talk, talk, that’s all it’s ever been.” Ragsdale’s eyes lost focus, as if he’d turned his attention to some inward vision. “I should’ve known it would never happen.”
“What, Scotty?” Tom asked. “What wouldn’t happen?”
“San Francisco.”
“San Francisco? What do you mean?” Tom watched the ax come down, inch by inch, as if pulled by its own weight. Brandon had edged away and was slowly coming up behind Ragsdale. “What was going to happen in San Francisco?”
“Nothing,” Ragsdale spat out, his face contorted with disgust. “I should’ve known. It was just a—a dream. Fantasy.”
Brandon was close enough to grab Ragsdale if the man went for Tom with the ax.
“Were you and Meredith planning to go to San Francisco together?” Tom asked. “Was that your dream?”
Tears filled Ragsdale’s eyes and overflowed, mixing with sweat on his cheeks and dripping off his chin. “Dreams never come true. Not for losers like us.”
“Scotty—”
“I see you sneaking up on me!” Ragsdale spun around and swung the ax at Brandon. Brandon jumped back and the blade missed him by a couple of inches.
Tom tackled Ragsdale from behind. He looped his own arms around Ragsdale’s elbows and jerked the man’s arms back hard, hoping pain would make him let go of the ax. It didn’t work. Ragsdale twisted left and right, trying to shake Tom off. Tom held on and rode with it. The ax swung from Ragsdale’s hand, back and forth, the cutting edge grazing Tom’s pants leg.
With a roar of fury, Ragsdale bent over and bucked like a horse, trying to pitch Tom to the ground. He lost his balance and collapsed with Tom still on his back.
Ragsdale pushed and squirmed under Tom’s weight. Holding him down with a knee in his back, Tom forced Ragsdale’s arms straight out to the sides in the dirt. One hand still gripped the ax.
“You son of a bitch, get off me!” Ragsdale shouted.
Panting, Tom ordered Brandon, “Grab the damned thing. I can’t hold him for long.”
Brandon slammed his boot heel down on the hand that held the ax. Ragsdale screamed and released his grip. Brandon snatched the ax and flung it onto the back porch of the house, far out of reach.
Robbed of his weapon, Ragsdale seemed to find fresh energy in rage. He pushed and rolled, and before Tom could regain control Ragsdale’s fist flew up and smashed into his face. Tom felt a shock of pain and blood spurted from his nose. “Damn it, Scotty,” he gasped, “now you’re making me mad.”
Brandon caught one arm, Tom the other, and they pinned Ragsdale face down in the dirt again. Tom sat on his back, jerked his hands together and cuffed them. Blood poured unchecked from Tom’s nose onto Ragsdale’s hands and back, soaking into his shirt. “You’re under arrest,” Tom said, “for assaulting a police officer.”
After Tom finished reading him his rights, they hauled him up. Before he was even steady on his own feet Ragsdale started kicking at their ankles and legs. His foot connected with Tom’s shin and Tom stumbled backward, his leg threatening to fold under him. He righted himself and he and Brandon pushed Ragsdale forward, around the house toward the cruiser out front.
“I’ve got rights!” Ragsdale ranted. “You can’t do this!”
Tom couldn’t breathe through his nose, and blood ran into his open mouth with every gulp of air. A pulsing pain made him want to shut his eyes against the sun. His damned nose was broken, he’d bet on it. Blood streaked and spotted the front of his brown uniform.
“You okay?” Brandon asked as they approached the car.
“Yeah,” Tom grunted. He spat blood into the dirt.
“You need to—”
Ragsdale swung his head sideways and butted Brandon’s chin. Brandon staggered and Ragsdale almost slipped free of his grip, but Tom still had a firm hold on Ragsdale’s other arm. After the surprise of the blow, Brandon recovered and the two of them maneuvered Ragsdale to the car.
Even with his hands cuffed behind him, getting Ragsdale into the back seat felt like trying to cram an octopus into a bucket. He kicked, nipped at their hands, spat in their faces.
“You’ll pay for this!” Ragsdale yelled when they finally shoved him in the car.
“Aw, shut up,” Tom said, and slammed the door.
A couple of hours later, Tom sat at his desk with an ice pack pressed to his nose. His left eye had turned a lurid blend of red and purple, but the ER doctor had stopped most of the bleeding from his nostrils. Tom had changed into a shirt and jeans he kept in his locker at headquarters, and the sheriff’s secretary had taken the soiled uniform down the block to the cleaners.
Dennis Murray rapped on the open office door and walked in. Peering at Tom’s face, he said, “You sure you don’t need a splint on that nose?”
“It’s cracked across the bridge, but it’s not displaced. The doctor said there’s no point in a splint. What have you got for me?”
Dennis took a seat in front of the desk. “Lloyd Wilson’s body’s on its way to Roanoke. I didn’t find any casings at the scene. And this just came in.”
Dennis handed Tom a fax. Lowering the ice pack, Tom read the autopsy report on Cameron Taylor. Two slugs removed from his heart muscle had been fired by a .22 pistol.
“They took a slug out of Meredith’s brain,” Dennis said. “Both the Taylors were killed with the same gun. They’ll have Meredith’s complete autopsy report sometime tomorrow.”
Tom dropped the stapled sheets on his desk and returned the ice pack to his aching nose. “I’ll be surprised if Lloyd wasn’t killed with the same gun.”
“Right. By the way, while you were gone I checked on Mrs. Barker, made sure nobody’s bothered her. She went on quite a bit about the evil she senses floating around Mason County, but she’s not getting any vibrations, or whatever she gets, about the killer coming after her.”
“Oh, well, that’s a load off my mind,” Tom said. “But I hope you reminded her to keep her doors locked at night.”
“Yep. I also heard this morning that some people out in Rocky Branch District are calling a citizens’ meeting at the school for tomorrow night. A lot of those people have been involved with the Taylors since they came here with the poverty program, and Cam was a crusading hero to them.”
“I guess they think we should have solved the murders by now,” Tom said. “Having a meeting won’t hurry things along.”
“What I heard was that people are sure Ben Hern killed the Taylors, and we’re tiptoeing around him because he’s rich and famous.”
“Aw, for god’s sake,” Tom said. “If I had one piece of solid evidence against him, he’d be locked up.”
“The sheriff expects you to go to the meeting and calm everybody down.”
“Great,” Tom said. “After everybody finds out there’s been another murder, they’ll be ready to lynch me.”
Dennis grinned. “Hey, I’ll go along as your bodyguard if you want me to.” Turning serious again, he went on, “I checked on Dave Hogencamp’s whereabouts, and he’s been at work since around five this morning, according to his supervisor. Out of the county, in fact, moving some coal cars. His daughter’s the one without an alibi. She didn’t go to work at Hern’s place today, says her aunt had a doctor’s appointment and couldn’t stay with Mrs. Hogencamp, so Angie had to stay home.”
“And her mother’s not much of a witness to back her up.”
“What now?” Dennis asked. “Hern’s been waiting in the conference room for a while, and he’s getting pretty cranky. I had to talk him out of leaving.”
“His lawyer still with him?”
“No. She went back to New York because of another case. He said she’s coming back later in the week, though.”
“I’ll talk to him now.” Tom dropped the ice pack on the desk and pushed to his feet, setting off an explosion of pain in his head. He stood still for a minute to let it die down a little before he walked to the conference room.
Hern was on his feet, pacing. “It’s about time,” he burst out when Tom entered. “I’ve been stuck in this room for hours. I don’t have to put up with this. I’m trying to cooperate, but I can walk out anytime—” He broke off, taking in the sight of Tom’s face. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Walked into a door,” Tom said. “Sit down.”
Hern yanked out a chair, dropped into it, and folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t suppose you have any news for me about my mother.”
Tom took a seat across from him. “No. I gather you haven’t been in touch with her since I talked to you yesterday.”
Hern’s mask of hostility slipped, revealing his underlying anxiety. He sat forward, fists clenched on the table. “I haven’t heard from her and I can’t find her. She’s not at home, and she didn’t go to her office today. My mother blowing off an important meeting—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t happen.”
“Wherever she is,” Tom said, “she’s well hidden.”
“She’s not hiding, damn it, she’s
missing.
I know something’s happened to her.” Hern scrubbed his hands over his face. “Aw, hell, what’s the point? At least you’re looking for her, and that’s all I care about.”
“Are you sure she didn’t go to the Taylor house Friday morning?””
“Yes, I’m sure. How many times do I have to say it? And I wasn’t there either. Your witness made a mistake.”
“What have you been doing since I saw you yesterday?” Tom asked.
“I went home. I ate dinner with my lawyer. I worked all evening. This morning I had breakfast with Jessie at seven. She left right afterward. She had to get back to New York because she’s due in court tomorrow and has to prepare. After she left, I worked until one of your men showed up and told me it was
urgent
that I come in to headquarters. I’ve been sitting here wasting time ever since.”
“Did you see or talk to anybody between the time your lawyer left and the deputy arrived at your house?”
“I talked to Angie on the phone around eight. Why are you asking me about this morning? Has something happened? Can’t you be straight with me for a change?”
“There’s been another murder,” Tom said.
Hern groaned. “Who?”
“Lloyd Wilson, the Taylors’ closest neighbor.”
“Captain, I wouldn’t have known the man if I’d passed him on the street. Why in god’s name would I kill him?”
“He was the witness who saw a Jaguar at the Taylor house Friday,” Tom said. “So there’s no one who can verify your whereabouts this morning?”
Hern swore and shook his head. Then he stood. “If you’re not arresting me, I’m leaving.”
Tom didn’t try to stop him. “Keep yourself available. And let me know if you hear from your mother.”
When he was gone, Tom considered his options.
If Karen Hernandez was another victim, why had the killer hidden her body but not the others? And where was her car? It was a distinctive vehicle, not easy to hide, but by now it might be in a hundred pieces in some chop shop.
He was getting nowhere.
He stared down at his hands, fingers splayed on the tabletop. Rough from working around his sheep farm without gloves, they bore a few nicks suffered in a wrestling match with a barbed wire fence that a neighbor’s cows had knocked down. Had Rachel ever cringed inwardly at the touch of these country man’s hands? Ben Hern had an artist’s hands, strong but smooth, his fingers long like Tom’s but more refined. Elegant.
The dull pain around his nose and eyes had intensified to a steady throb in the short time he’d been without the ice pack. Rising, he wished he could go back to his office, sit quietly for a while and let the cold numb his face. But he had another stop to make first.
***
Tom walked through the passageway between Sheriff’s Department headquarters, nodded to the jailer at his desk, and entered the cell block. He found Sheriff Willingham standing outside Scotty Ragsdale’s cell with Ragsdale’s elderly parents. The prisoner sat on his bunk with his head in his hands. In place of his dirty jeans and bloodied tee shirt, he wore a standard blaze orange jumpsuit with MASON COUNTY JAIL INMATE stamped on the back in black letters.
Irma Ragsdale, a little woman in a green smock she wore at the hardware store, turned on Tom the second she saw him. “What is our son locked up for? He hasn’t done a thing. He ought to be in a hospital, not a jail cell.”
Tom glanced at the sheriff, who shrugged and spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
“Scotty’s under arrest for assaulting two police officers,” Tom said. He thought it was probably obvious that he’d been one of them.
“But you provoked him into it! Why were you bothering him in the first?”
“Irma,” her husband said, “let’s just find out what we have to do. There’s no point in declaring war over this. He’s using meth again, anybody can see that.” Carl Ragsdale, an older version of his son in looks, tried to take his wife’s arm but she shook him off.
“I want him moved to the hospital, right now,” she said.
“If he needs medical care, he’ll have it,” Sheriff Willingham assured her. “But I believe he’ll be okay with us while the—whatever—works its way out of his system. We’ll keep a close eye on him.”
“I’m right here!” Ragsdale roared from the cell, making all of them flinch in surprise. He rose and slammed his open palms against the bars. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here, like I’m deaf, dumb and blind.”
“How are you feeling, Scotty?” Tom asked.
“How the hell do you think I feel?”
“When was your last hit?”
“I’m not admitting anything to you.”
“I’d just like to know when you might be clear-headed enough to answer some questions.”
“Go to hell. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“All right then. I guess we’ll both have to wait until you have a change of mind.” To Scotty’s parents, Tom said, “He’s staying here, at least until his bail hearing, and that’s not going to be today. The jailer will keep a close watch on him and get him help if he needs it. God knows I don’t want anything to happen to him. I need some straight answers from him.”
Irma Ragsdale’s face knotted with frustration and sorrow. “He didn’t kill those people, Tom. He’s my boy, I ought to know what’s in his heart. He hasn’t got it in him to hurt anybody.” Her tear-filled eyes flicked to Tom’s bruised face. “Except when…But he’d never
kill
anybody. I’d stake my own life on that.”
“Come on now, Irma.” Her husband put an arm around her and gently turned her toward the door. “He’ll be safe and sound here tonight. We’ll see how things look in the morning.”
“See ya!” Ragsdale yelled after them. “Thanks for nothing! Again.”
His mother sobbed as her husband led her from the cell block.
Sheriff Willingham sighed, looked at Ragsdale, then at Tom. He started to speak but changed his mind and instead shook his head and walked out. Tom understood how helpless Willingham must feel. The sheriff had known the older Ragsdales most of his life, had always been friendly with them, but they had a worthless son and he couldn’t do a damned thing to change that.
When Willingham was gone, Ragsdale reached out and tried to grab Tom’s arm. Tom never got close enough to a cell to let a prisoner touch him, and Ragsdale’s fingers closed on air. “Please,” he said, his tone turning desperate. “I’ve gotta get out of here now. I’ve got things to do. I can’t stay here tonight.”
“You don’t have a choice, Scotty. Now accept it and settle down.”
Ragsdale crumpled against the bars and began to sob, open-mouthed, tears and mucus dripping from his chin. Watching him, Tom realized he’d have to order a suicide watch at least through the night.
Was this the killer who had managed to take three lives without leaving any evidence behind? Was he capable of killing a woman he’d loved?
Tom felt sure Scotty played some part in the crimes, but he couldn’t believe he was looking at the entire answer to the puzzle. Something else was out there, just beyond sight, waiting for him to focus his eyes in the right direction.
Rachel steeled herself for an argument when she walked into Tom’s office at the end of the work day. She had to tell him what Lindsay was up to, but he’d been so angry with her the last time they’d talked that she wasn’t sure he would listen now.
At the sight of his battered face, she momentarily forgot all about Lindsay.
“What happened?” she exclaimed. His olive complexion couldn’t hide the bruising around one eye and across his nose. “Did you have an accident?”
“I’m fine,” he said, his words clipped and cool. “But I’m very busy, so—”
“Tom, give me a minute, please.” She wouldn’t nag him to tell her how he’d been hurt, but she was going to say what she came here to say. She was reluctant to jump right into it, though. Taking a seat facing his desk, she said, “I was shocked when I heard about Lloyd Wilson. Is there anything I can do? What’s happened to his dogs and chickens?”
“His sister has them.”
“Good,” Rachel said. “That’s good.” Tom was giving her the minimum number of words required, and he looked at her as if she were an unwelcome stranger. “I know you’re busy with Lloyd’s death on top of everything else, but there’s something I have to talk to you about.”
Tom waited, his face impassive.
If she blurted this out she’d make matters worse. Maybe she should let him draw his own conclusions. “I found out earlier today that a woman from the state crime lab called the clinic where I worked in McLean, asking a lot of questions about me.”
Rachel saw the quick narrowing of Tom’s eyes.
“The woman said her name was Ann Johnson,” she went on. “I didn’t think the crime lab did that kind of thing, gathering background information about people, and there’s no reason for them to be interested in me anyway. So I called Roanoke and asked to speak to Ann Johnson. They told me no one by that name works there.”
Now Rachel waited, watching Tom’s face. His eyes slid away from hers and a muscle twitched in his cheek. She would not allow herself to speak again, however long he took to respond.
At last he said, “You think it was Lindsay.” A flat statement, not a question.
She met his gaze, telling herself she was the one in the right and she had nothing to apologize for. “Yes, I do. She’s been prying into my background. Now she’s lying and misusing her professional position to get information about me.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Tom—” How had things gone so wrong between them that he could turn such cold eyes on her? “I think she’s trying to find something she can use to drive a wedge between us.”
“She doesn’t have to bother. You’ve done a pretty good job of that yourself.”
Rachel knew her face betrayed how deeply his words wounded her, and she struggled to get her emotions under control. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I wanted.”
“You know,” Tom said, “there have been times when I thought about doing a background check on you myself.”
“What?” Rachel said, unable to raise her voice above a whisper. “Why?”
“Why? Is that a serious question? You’ve told me next to nothing about yourself. You won’t talk about your family. If I get anywhere near that subject, you practically panic.”
“No, I don’t.”
Yes, I do.
Everything he said was true. “Tom, I just—”
“You change the subject, you try to distract me, you won’t answer questions. You do everything you can to avoid telling me anything about yourself. My life’s an open book to you, but you’ve never been honest with me, you’ve always been secretive.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Ben Hern, he’s just one example. If he’s such a dear old friend, why is it I never heard a word about him until he suddenly showed up in Mason County? Then I was supposed to accept him, no questions asked.”
Tears stung Rachel’s eyes and she blinked to get rid of them. She would not let him make her cry. Feeling trapped, she lashed out. “Yes, there are some things I don’t like to talk about. What does that have to do with Lindsay? How does that justify her calling people I used to work with and telling lies and making threats?”
“What threats?”
“She told the person she talked to that she
had
to
answer questions about me and would be in a lot of trouble if she refused. None of which is true.”
“Aw, for god’s sake.”
Tom rubbed at the bruise between his eyes and winced at his own touch. Rachel stifled a rush of concern. He didn’t want her sympathy. He would probably never want anything from her again.
Tom stood abruptly. “I’ve got three murders to solve. I don’t have time for this crap. Whatever’s going on between you and Lindsay, handle it yourselves. Don’t put me in the middle of it.”
It was happening because he was already in the middle
.
Couldn’t he see that? Was he blind to everything Lindsay did? Rachel said nothing, but rose and walked out of his office, feeling foolish and utterly alone.
***
“God damn it,” Tom muttered when Rachel was gone. What else would go wrong before this day was over? Pressing the cold pack to his face, he realized it had long ago reached room temperature. He flung it into the wastebasket. He grabbed another instant cold pack from the desk drawer where he’d stowed them and squeezed it hard to release the crystals, giving in to a brief fantasy of strangling Lindsay.
What the hell did Lindsay think she was doing? If her bosses found out about it, she’d either be suspended or fired outright, and Tom was willing to bet Rachel was too ticked off to let the incident go unreported. He understood how she felt. But damn it, Rachel’s behavior was driving him crazy too.
He pressed the new cold pack to his swollen eye and the bridge of his nose.
***
During the drive home, with Holly’s inconsequential chatter as background noise, Rachel carried on a silent debate with herself about the dangers of confronting Lindsay. If Lindsay smelled fear, rather than simple anger over her prying, she would be intrigued and gratified, and more determined than ever to mine Rachel’s past for information to use against her. But how could Rachel stand back and do nothing, hoping Lindsay would lose interest before she uncovered anything harmful? She had to stand up to this woman.
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
Overwhelmed by frustration, Rachel groaned aloud.
“What’s the matter?” Holly asked.
Rachel sighed. “I’ll drop you at the house, then I have to go to Joanna’s and take care of something.”
A few minutes later, she walked into Joanna’s kitchen. The room was redolent of garlic and onion, oregano and tomatoes.
Joanna looked around from the range, where she was stirring something in a pot. “Hey, sweetie. What’s up?”
Lindsay, washing lettuce at the sink, gave Rachel a dismissive glance and returned to her task.
“I need to talk to you, Lindsay,” Rachel said to her back.
Lindsay’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug but she didn’t turn. “So talk.”
“Can we do this privately?”
“I’m busy right now.”
“Well, I can leave the room,” Joanna said.
“No,” Lindsay said. “I can’t imagine what Rachel has to say that you can’t hear.”
All right, if that’s how you want it.
Stepping closer to her, Rachel said, “I don’t appreciate you calling the place I used to work and asking questions about me.”
“What?” Lindsay spun around, her expression a mixture of incredulity and amusement. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Aware of Joanna looking on in slack-jawed surprise, Rachel felt her face flush. “You called this morning, you gave a phony name, and you told the animal hospital’s business manager she’d get in trouble if she didn’t tell you what you wanted to know.”
Lindsay threw a wide-eyed
Can you believe this?
look at Joanna, then gave Rachel a sad little frown. “Rachel, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’re not making any sense.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have barged in here and confronted Lindsay, but it was too late to retreat.
“You said someone called and gave a phony name?” Lindsay asked. “So you’re not claiming that someone using
my
name is making phone calls about you. And in that case, what makes you so certain it was me?”
“I’m not going to argue with your lies,” Rachel said. “I just want you to realize that I know what you’re doing.”
She walked out at a measured pace, wanting to run but refusing to flee like a coward. Outside, though, she allowed herself to run to her vehicle.
After starting the engine she sat gripping the steering wheel. She felt sick. She felt like banging her head against a wall. She felt like screaming at Lindsay and Tom and herself for all the wrong steps that had led to this moment.
Ben thrust a crumpled sheet of paper at Rachel, then began pacing her living room, his shoulders hunched and fists stuffed into his jeans pockets. “I found it in my mailbox when I finally got home after wasting the whole day at the Sheriff’s Department.”
Rachel and Holly, seated on the sofa, read the hand-printed note together.
YOU’LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID. CAM AND MEREDITH WERE WORTH A THOUSAND OF YOU. YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH IT. WE KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH SCUM LIKE YOU.
“Oh, no.” Rachel dropped the note on the coffee table, not wanting to touch it for another second. “Did you report this?”
Ben gave a bitter laugh. “Report it to who? Tom Bridger, who believes I’m a murderer? You really think he’d do anything about it?”
Maybe not, Rachel thought, surprised that she could imagine Tom shirking his duty. “It’s a death threat. At least it sounds like one to me.”
“How can people be so mean?” Holly looked up at Ben. “What if somebody breaks into your house and tries to hurt you?”
“I guess I’ll find out whether my alarm system was a worthwhile investment.”
“You can’t just let it go,” Rachel said. “I really am worried about you.”
“I’m worried about all of us.” Ben slumped into a chair, his long legs stretched in front of him. “I’m going out of my mind worrying about my mother, and I can’t get Bridger to see that something’s happened to her. He probably thinks she’s part of a conspiracy with me, like the two of us killed the Taylors together.” He looked at Rachel. “And I’m worried about you. Why didn’t you tell me you had a break-in Saturday night? Is it true somebody turned on the gas? Why didn’t you call me?”
“You have enough on your mind.” His handsome face had taken on a haggard, haunted appearance and she doubted he’d slept through a single night since the Taylors were killed. She hoped he’d been taking his medication regularly. “We’re safe now. New locks, and Brandon Connelly’s sleeping here. His Sheriff’s Department car parked out front should be an effective deterrent.”
“Do you know about the meeting tomorrow night?” Ben asked. “Angie warned me about it. Sounds like all the Taylors’ supporters are getting together to decide how to dispose of the evil outsider, meaning me. What do you think they’ll do? Tar and feather me, or just string me up and get it over with?”
Holly gave a little cry of distress.
“Don’t make sick jokes,” Rachel said.
“Who says I’m joking?” Ben sat forward. “Do you know who’s behind it? Lindsay Taylor. Angie told me she’s been stirring people up, telling them I killed her parents and she’s afraid I’ll get away with it just because I’ve got money.”
Rachel wished she could doubt that report, but after what she’d seen of Lindsay’s behavior, she believed it immediately.
“Well, that doesn’t surprise me one little bit,” Holly said. “That Lindsay is like some nasty little bug that keeps buzzin’ around and won’t go away. I wish I could stomp on her.”
That made Ben laugh. “I’d like to see that.”
Rachel couldn’t summon any amusement. “Lindsay might as well accuse Tom of not doing his job. I’m surprised he’d put up with that. Of course, if he asked her about it, she’d deny she was doing it.”
“Is she giving you a hard time because you’re a friend of mine?” Ben asked.
“That’s part of it, but she has other reasons too.”
“She thinks she’s gonna get Captain Bridger back,” Holly volunteered. “Like
that’s
gonna happen.”
“I’m afraid she’s already turned him against me.”
“No!” Holly protested.
“It’s true. I think our relationship is over.” Speaking the words, admitting the reality of her break with Tom, brought on a crushing sadness. “Now I just want Lindsay to leave me alone.”
Ben frowned. “Exactly what has she done?”
How could she explain her fear of Lindsay’s prying? Neither Ben nor Holly had any idea what kind of family secrets were hidden in Rachel’s past. “It’s been mostly little stuff. Insults and innuendoes. Nasty but probably hard for anybody to see as dangerous. But it’s getting worse.” She told him about the call to the animal hospital in McLean.
“Why would she be stupid enough to say she was with the crime lab?” Ben asked. “No matter what name she used, that’s going to point to her.”
“Exactly,” Rachel said. “She can say that she
wouldn’t
have been stupid enough to mention the crime lab, therefore it couldn’t have been her. It had to be somebody else, or—”
“Or you made it up.
Dios mio.
She’s a clever little bitch. And dangerous as hell.” Ben pushed his thick black hair off his forehead, but it flopped back when he lowered his hand. “What a mess. We’ve got a cold-blooded killer who’s after the two of you, I’m a murder suspect, and Lindsay Taylor’s out to get both of us. Man, to think I moved out here to get away from stress.”
Rachel managed a tired smile. “You and me both.”
“At least you know there’s nothing in your background she can dig up that would hurt you.”
Holly said, “She can’t dig up anything bad about
either one
of you, because you’ve never done anything bad.”
This spirited and naive defense silenced both Rachel and Ben.
Ben’s morose expression made Rachel wonder whether he had told her the whole story of his legal problem in New York or withheld something from her. Was there more to it? Something scandalous? If so, and Cam Taylor had found out, Ben’s motive for stopping Taylor’s blackmail attempt would be stronger than it appeared at first. And if Cam had known a damaging secret about Ben, Cam’s daughter might know too. Lindsay wouldn’t hesitate to blow it out of proportion and use it to incite a mob to go after Ben.
Rachel couldn’t ask Ben about this in front of Holly. What right did she have, in any case, to demand that he reveal his secrets to her, when she had never shared hers with him?
“Yes, Lindsay’s dangerous,” she said.
To both of us.
***
Long past dinnertime, Tom made a cold ham and cheese sandwich and ate it standing in his kitchen. The relentless pain around his nose and eyes had spread, and now his head felt like an over-inflated balloon ready to explode. He wanted to toss down a pain pill and collapse into bed, but first he intended to read more of Meredith’s manuscript. Something was going on in this case that he either didn’t know about yet or didn’t understand. If the answer lay in the past, he hoped Meredith had included it in her fictionalized account. Whether he would recognize it when he came across it was another question.
Billy Bob scarfed down his own meal and topped it with a long slurpy drink that nearly emptied his water bowl. After refilling the bowl, Tom grabbed the case containing the CD from the kitchen table. “Come on, boy,” he said to his dog. “Let’s go read a novel.”
Billy Bob trotted alongside him down the hall to the home office that had once belonged to John Bridger, Tom’s father. The only sound in the house was the click of the bulldog’s nails on the floor.
When Tom’s relationship with Rachel had begun back in January, he’d been pathetically optimistic, imagining a wedding within a few months. Rachel’s presence would bring this quiet house to life again, and before long they’d have a couple of kids running around the place. The problem with that dream was that Rachel didn’t share it. They’d become intimate physically, but she kept her heart and mind locked away, out of his reach.
Lindsay, he knew, imagined herself living here as his wife, the mother of his children. She apparently still clung to the hope that Tom would come back to her if Rachel were out of the picture. But even if he’d lost Rachel, he wouldn’t make the mistake of getting involved with Lindsay again.
He sat at the desk in the office and booted up his computer. Dwelling on what had happened with Rachel was pointless. A waste of emotional and mental energy when he needed to be sharp and get this damned case closed before anybody else ended up dead. But the realization that his relationship with Rachel was probably over sat in his mind like a boulder that he would have to work around.
Billy Bob settled on the floor with a deep sigh and closed his eyes. Tom opened Meredith’s file and clicked through to the spot where he’d stopped reading the day before. The narrator, the young Meredith, had just caught Chad—Cam—kissing Celia, who was apparently meant to be Karen Richardson, now Hernandez. Tom expected to read about consequences, turmoil in the V
ISTA
ranks, escalating hostility between Meredith and Karen. Instead, the story focused for several chapters on Cam’s pet project, an outdoor drama about the history of the Melungeons in Appalachia. Charged with writing the play script, Meredith had interviewed Melungeon residents of the county, some of whom Tom recognized from her descriptions. Cam was busy with production and recruiting local people for the project.
Karen/Celia was still around, still making Meredith uneasy. But the local girl named Donna had quickly become a bigger problem. Although she wasn’t Melungeon, Chad/Cam chose her for a starring role in the play.
Meredith had written:
Donna was shameless—brazen. She placed herself in Chad’s path at every opportunity, and she was always taking him off to a corner to have a private talk. When she looked at him, anybody could see that she wanted him. She was his to take anytime he liked.
Interesting, Tom thought. He was sure that Donna was Scotty Ragsdale’s older sister, Denise. Meredith hadn’t bothered to alter the fact that her parents owned the county’s only hardware and lumber store. Tom hadn’t heard of any friction between Meredith and Denise, though. Scotty said they were friends. Maybe this conflict over Chad/Cam was something Meredith invented to give her story more tension. Tom reminded himself that he was reading a novel, not an autobiography, despite the similarities to Meredith’s real life.
Leaning back in his chair, he pressed a hand to his aching forehead. He’d hoped to get all the way through the manuscript tonight, but he could see that wasn’t going to happen. Pain pills and sleep were all he wanted. A night of rest and recuperation would help him see the evidence more clearly.
Tom leaned against the wall opposite the cell and watched Scotty Ragsdale pick at the lavish breakfast his mother had brought in. Pancakes doused with syrup, half a dozen slices of bacon, scrambled eggs, two biscuits, a thermos of homemade coffee. The aromas made Tom’s mouth water—his breakfast had consisted of a bowl of cold cereal and a cup of coffee that he’d brewed too weak—but Ragsdale seemed unmoved by the bounty on his plate. After a few bites of the eggs he set the tray aside on his bunk.
“No appetite?” Tom asked.
Ragsdale shook his head. “My mouth tastes like a toilet bowl.” He glanced at Tom and winced. “Holy shit. Did I do that to you?”
“Oh, yeah. And you socked Brandon Connelly in the jaw. With your head. Remember any of that?”
“A little. It’s pretty vague.”
“Do you remember going to Lloyd Wilson’s place yesterday morning?”
“Wilson?” Ragsdale’s gaze connected with Tom’s for a second, then flicked away, as an expression of pure horror came over his face. He sounded breathless when he spoke again. “What happened at his place?”
“He’s dead. Shot at close range.”
Ragsdale hung his head, gripping it with both hands. “And you think I did it.”
“Did you?”
“I don’t remem—No. No.” He shook his head vigorously.
“Maybe your memory will improve after you’ve been here a while longer.”
Ragsdale shoved himself to his feet and stepped over to the bars. “Listen, Tom, I need to get out of here. It’s important. I’ve got—” He paused and seemed to search for a word. “Commitments.”
“When you get out is up to the judge. I can tell you the prosecutor’s going to ask for a high bail when you’re arraigned, and I think the judge will go along.”
Ragsdale was nodding impatiently. “When’s my arraignment?”
“Tomorrow.”
“
Tomorrow?
I can’t stay here another night!”
“You don’t have a choice, Scotty. If you’ve got work lined up, it’ll have to wait.”
Grasping two of the bars, Ragsdale leaned his forehead against them and closed his eyes. He whispered, speaking to himself, “It’ll be all right. It’ll be all right.”
Tom was about to press on with more questions when Dennis Murray flung open the door into the cell block. “Hey, Tom, come here,” the sergeant said, with a wave of his hand. “Something’s come up.”
A cold dread descended on Tom. What now?
Please, God, not another killing.
They moved into the jailer’s office before Dennis spoke. “We got a call from Matt Dolan.” Dolan was sheriff in a neighboring county. “They found Karen Hernandez’s car.”
***
Ninety minutes later, Tom followed Sheriff Matt Dolan along a narrow trail into the pine woods, with Dennis and Brandon bringing up the rear. The forest birds had fallen silent, but cicadas kept up a steady drone.
Dolan, a burly ex-Marine with a gray crewcut, said over his shoulder, “It’s just lucky those two hikers felt like they had to report it. Most people wouldn’t have bothered.” He chuckled. “I could name a few that would’ve tried to salvage it. We don’t see many Jaguars free for the taking. But they’d need a crane to lift it out of that ravine.”
Tom swatted away a cloud of gnats. “Have your people found any evidence on the scene since you called us?”
“Naw, I didn’t let my deputies go down there tramping around. All I did was check to make sure nobody was in the vehicle. I didn’t even open a door. If there’s anything to find, the State Police techs’ll spot it. They oughta be here any time now.”
Driving a car into the woods along this path couldn’t have been easy, Tom thought as he pushed aside a low-hanging branch. About two hundred yards in, they came to the lip of a ravine. “There it is,” Dolan said.
They stood in a splash of sunlight, looking down the slope on the Jaguar that had come to rest at the bottom. The vehicle had landed upright, its nose shoved into a scraggly holly bush. Most of the car was covered with pine branches in an obvious attempt to hide it. The sight stirred a deep sense of foreboding in Tom. He could have been moving in the wrong direction on this case since day one.
Dolan lunged and stumbled down the slope like a drunken bear. Tom descended more slowly, letting his feet slide when they wanted to but somehow staying upright. Brandon and Dennis edged down the embankment after him.
While Dennis moved around the Jaguar with the camera, Tom and Brandon remained in place but scanned the ground for evidence. A hundred feet away, a jostling horde of turkey vultures tore at a deer carcass. Grunting and hissing, they seemed too occupied with their meal to mind the humans nearby. A dozen crows, denied places at the feast, protested from the skeleton of a dead tree.
“I don’t see a damned thing,” Tom muttered.
“Been so long since we had rain,” Dolan remarked, “the ground won’t even take a footprint.”
“What do you think?” Brandon asked Tom.
“I think we need to pop the trunk.” Tom asked Dolan, “You have any objection?”
“Not a one,” Dolan said. “I’ve got a crowbar in my truck. Be right back.”
As Dolan climbed back out of the ravine, Brandon said, “You think Mrs. Hernandez is in the trunk? Maybe she just abandoned the car because it’s too easy to spot.”
Tom shook his head. “First of all, how would she even know this ravine was here? And look at the size of some of these branches. It would have taken a lot of effort to haul them down here and throw them over the car. Then she’d have to get out of the area on foot. I think two people did this, and they left in a second vehicle.”
“Hey, Tom,” Dennis said, “come look at this.”
Tom joined him on the driver’s side of the car. The window was uncovered, the large branch that had hidden it pulled aside and dropped on the ground. Dennis pointed, and Tom leaned close to peer through the window. The glass had a skim of condensation on the inside, but Tom spotted what had caught Dennis’ attention. One section of the steering wheel bore a brownish-red stain—as if it had been gripped by a bloody hand.
“Let’s hope it’s not just dirt,” Tom said. “But either way, we might get prints.”
This situation was looking crazier by the minute. If the stain was blood, whose blood was it? Why would anybody be careless enough to leave a bloody hand print behind?
He moved around to the rear of the car, leaned close to the trunk, sniffed deeply. He picked up the odor of decomposition, but it was wafting over from the dead deer. The Jaguar was a luxury vehicle, and the trunk, like every other opening, would be well-sealed.
“Here we go,” Dolan called from the top of the slope, holding up a crowbar. They waited for him to descend. “Now then,” he said when he joined them, “let’s see what’s in there.”
Tom tried to keep his impatience in check as Dolan fussed with the crowbar, searching for the right angle to force the lock. When Dolan got the bar into position and pressed down on it, Tom held his breath, almost convinced by now that they would find Karen Hernandez’s decomposing body inside. The lid flew open.
The trunk was spotless, and empty except for an emergency jack and a set of jumper cables.
“Oh, Rachel, please don’t.” Joanna emerged from the empty stall and faced Rachel in the stable’s wide center aisle. She held a bucket filled with fragrant grains she was distributing to all the stalls before the horses were brought in for the night. “What’s the point of listening to a bunch of ignorant people bitch about the police? They don’t understand what a murder investigation involves. All they’ll be doing is venting their frustration.”
“If anybody there believes I saw the killer,” Rachel said, “I want to set them straight.”
“Oh, dear lord, you’re going to stand up and speak?”
“Only if I have to. And I want to hear what they say about Ben.”
Joanna groaned. “Honey, you’re not Ben’s protector and defender. You don’t have to fight this battle for him. That’s his lawyer’s job.”
Rachel didn’t want to argue, so she let that pass. “I was hoping you’d come with me.”
“Oh no.” Joanna shook her head. “I couldn’t hold my temper in check. I’d probably start a riot. And I really do wish you wouldn’t go.”
“I’ll be okay.” Rachel paused. “Did you know that Lindsay is the one who talked her parents’ supporters into having this meeting?”
Joanna swung open the door to another stall. “I figured as much. She’s been on the phone a lot, and she’s been out and about, seeing people. Well, maybe it’ll backfire on her. Tom’s going to have a fit when he realizes she’s behind it.”
***
The sky was still bright when Rachel set off, but the sinking sun splashed streaks of purple and gold over the clouds above the hills. Within an hour full darkness would descend. If the meeting were being held deep in Rocky Branch District, Rachel would have skipped it rather than venture into that alien territory alone at night, but the consolidated middle school straddled the district’s boundary.
She had imagined, feared, a huge turnout, with hundreds of people screaming for Ben’s arrest, but she was relieved to find no more than three dozen vehicles in the school’s parking lot. Six Sheriff’s Department cruisers lined up nose to tail along one edge of the lot, and two cable TV trucks sat near the building’s entrance.
A few people stood talking in small groups outside the door, but Rachel didn’t know any of them and she didn’t acknowledge their stares on her way in.
When she reached the auditorium, she immediately spotted Lindsay in the first row, shaking hands and speaking with the people who formed a small crowd before her. One woman after another leaned to kiss Lindsay’s cheek. Playing the role of the grieving daughter to the hilt, Rachel thought. She had no idea how much sadness Lindsay actually felt over the deaths of her parents. It was possible that she viewed it as an opportunity for gain rather than as a loss.
About fifty adults and a handful of adolescents had gathered in the auditorium. Several teenage boys talked and laughed at the back of the room. Half a dozen deputies, including Brandon and the Blackwood twins, stood along the side walls. The press swarmed the area between seats and stage with their notebooks and cameras at the ready, probably excited that something they could tape for TV was finally about to happen.
Rachel took a seat several rows behind Lindsay. On the stage, Tom inclined his head to listen to Sheriff Willingham. They weren’t looking at the audience, and Rachel doubted Tom had seen her come in. Even from a distance, his swollen, discolored eye and nose looked awful. Brandon had come to the cottage the night before with a black and blue jaw, and he’d told Rachel and Holly the story of Scotty Ragsdale’s arrest. Tom should be at home, taking time to heal, but he’d probably been working with little rest since—
Stop it,
Rachel told herself.
He doesn’t want your concern.
Tom stood stiff and grim-faced beside the sheriff while the last of the arrivals trickled in and the crowd settled down. For a second Rachel thought Tom’s eyes connected with hers, and she quickly looked away.
A plump, white-haired man in a short-sleeved shirt opened the meeting with a prayer. “Dear Lord,” he intoned in a deep, resonant voice that was made for preaching, “we beseech thee to welcome our friends Cameron and Meredith into your loving presence and grant them eternal peace. We beg you to extend your loving hand to their daughter and bless her in her time of loss.”
Cameras whirred, focused on the speaker from the floor in front of the stage. At the mention of Lindsay, all of them swung around and trained their lenses on her. She kept her head bowed, her pale hair falling forward over her cheeks. Murmurs of “amen” rose from the crowd.
The man at the podium concluded his prayer and launched into a speech. “Many years ago, two young people came to our community with the intention of giving one year of their lives in service to the poorest, the most needy, among us.” His voice swelled with emotion. “Little did any of us know that they would devote the rest
of their lives to that service, and they would give of themselves without regret or expectation of repayment. Many of us can point to the ways our own lives are better because of Cameron and Meredith. They were our champions. They stood by our sides through many battles, and when we wearied they fought on alone.”
One person’s pest is another’s hero, Rachel thought. She was willing to believe the Taylors had done some good, although Cam’s methods also made enemies. What had the Taylors’ home life been like? What had they done to produce such a scheming, ruthless daughter?
“Now a monster has come among us,” the speaker went on, “and taken these dear friends from us. That monster remains right here in our peaceful community. We must not relax our vigilance. We must hold our families and neighbors close and let our love form a barrier against the darkest side of humanity. With God’s help we will crush the invader.”
“Amen!” the crowd answered.
Rachel cringed at this outrageous attempt to whip up fear and suspicion, although she had to concede the truth behind the overwrought warning. She was as frightened by the murders as anyone in the room, and she wouldn’t feel safe until the killer was caught. But these people were looking for an easy answer, and she wasn’t sure any of them had the patience to wait for the truth to emerge.
Some of the women present were weeping by the time the white-haired man called on Sheriff Willingham for an update on the investigation. Willingham fiddled with the microphone, loosing a screech of feedback, while cameras pointed at him. He cleared his throat and said, “I want to assure the community that we’re working on this twenty-four hours a day, and we won’t rest until we’ve got the killer in custody. My chief deputy is with me tonight, Captain Tom Bridger. A lot of you know Tom, and you knew his dad, John Bridger, a fine man who grew up in this part of the county. Tom’s heading up the day-to-day operations in this investigation, so I’m going to let him take your questions.”
Tom didn’t have a chance to open his mouth before a woman called out, “Why won’t you tell us more details about what happened to Cam and Meredith and their next door neighbor? How are we supposed to protect ourselves if we don’t know what we’re dealing with?”
Tom cleared his throat. “We don’t have any reason to think the general public is in danger. We believe the motive in these murders was personal. We’re following several leads, and we hope—”
“Was Meredith raped?” An elderly man had risen from his seat in the third row to ask the question. “I heard she was raped and tortured and mutilated. Is that true?”
Good grief, Rachel thought. Why did people need to embroider an already horrific murder with sensational fantasies? She had to admire Tom for staying cool in the face of such stupidity.
He gripped the sides of the podium and answered in a calm voice. “We have no reason to think a sexual assault took place. I can’t comment on Mrs. Taylor’s injuries or the cause of death until we get the autopsy report.”
The man next to Lindsay in the front row stood next. Although Rachel could only see his back, she recognized Beck Rasey, who had recently brought his four hunting dogs to the free rabies clinic she’d conducted in this area. Tall, with reddish brown hair and a florid complexion, he looked like a typical former athlete losing the battle with flab. Rachel remembered him because he’d lost his temper when she told him all his dogs badly needed to have their teeth cleaned. In so many words, he’d declared that Rachel was trying to scam him out of a big chunk of money.
Rasey told Tom, “I think you ought to be honest with the citizens of this county and just admit you’re running around in circles. You’re not any closer to making an arrest than the day the Taylors died.”
“Beck—” Tom started.
“You know who did it. Why don’t you lock him up?”
“Beck,” Tom said, his tone sharper now, “if we had enough evidence to arrest anybody, we would have done it already. We’re looking at every possibility. We—”
“You’ve got an eyewitness,” Rasey said. Shouts of agreement rose from the crowd. “What’s the matter? Can’t you make your girlfriend tell you the truth?”
To a chorus of hoots and laughter, Rasey turned and pointed at Rachel.
She felt her face go hot, and then she was on her feet. “I
have
told the truth. I wish I knew more, but I don’t. I did not see the killer. I don’t know any more than I’ve already told the Sheriff’s Department. I want this person caught as much as you do.”
She sat down, knowing Tom’s eyes were on her, refusing to look back at him. Her gaze settled on Lindsay, who had shifted in her seat and was watching Rachel with an innocent expression on her face. Rachel felt like slapping her and was grateful for the distance between them.
“We’re satisfied that Dr. Goddard has told us everything she knows,” Tom said from the stage. “She didn’t see anything that would help us identify the killer. Beck, if you’ll sit down and listen, I’ll finish filling all of you in about the investigation.”
Rasey stayed on his feet. “We all know the
celebrity
living in our county is a friend of hers,” he said, spitting out
celebrity
as if it were a bad taste.
Rachel wondered if Lindsay had written this guy’s script.
“Beck, will you sit down and listen to me?” Tom said.
Ignoring Tom, Rasey swept the crowd with his gaze. “Did y’all know that artist, the Cuban guy that got rich drawing cartoons, he likes to paint pictures of young girls without any clothes on? God knows what else he does with them.”
Rachel heard gasps all around her. For a moment she was stunned, then she told herself Rasey was inventing things, throwing out any wild thought that popped into his head.
Tom hustled down the steps from the stage. The sheriff replaced him at the microphone and tried to make himself heard, but Rasey was on a roll and couldn’t be drowned out.
“That’s the real reason he had to leave New York City.” Rasey shouted. “He got caught with a girl, her daddy caught them and tried to protect his daughter, and that so-called artist beat the girl’s father so bad the man landed in the hospital.”
Tom grabbed his arm, but Rasey shook him off and stepped away. The deputies along the walls moved forward.
“Cam and Meredith found out the whole story,” Rasey went on. “They got worried he was gonna do the same thing to our girls here in Mason County. And look what happened.”
“No, no,” Rachel muttered. Her heart thudding, she pushed herself to her feet again. “That’s not true. It’s a lie.”
When she saw the ugly curl of Rasey’s mouth she knew she’d invited disaster.
“Don’t you call me a liar,” he said. “You think I don’t know about you? You let your own mother die right in front of you. You’ve got medical training, but you stood by and let your mother bleed to death—
then
you called 911.”
The words hit Rachel like a punch to the chest. She gasped for breath, and the buzz of voices filled her head and overwhelmed her. She stumbled past knees and feet toward the aisle. She had to get out of here. As she ran up the aisle to the door, she thought she heard Tom calling her name, but the only clear voice was the sheriff’s booming over the sound system. “This meeting is over. Deputies, clear the room.”
Rachel leaned on the panic bar and shoved the door open, then she was outside in the muggy night air.
***
Tom elbowed through the crowd and out the door. Rachel stood in the parking lot in the eerie yellow glow of the mercury vapor lights, surrounded by half a dozen teenage boys. Tom recognized most of the boys, all of them troublemakers, and the worst of the bunch was Beck Rasey’s son Pete, a bulked-up high school football player.
Pete advanced on Rachel, but she stood her ground. He lowered his face to hers.
Rage propelled Tom forward. He shoved a couple of boys out of his way, grabbed Pete’s arms and jerked them backward. The boy yelped in surprise. Pinning Pete’s arms behind him, Tom spun him around, marched him six feet to the nearest car and slammed him face down across the hood.
Pete struggled futilely and shouted, “Get your hands off me, you fucking asshole!”
Tom pulled the boy’s arms higher, making him yowl with pain. “What did you call me? Say that again, you little punk, and you’ll spend the next month in a cell.”
“Like hell he will,” Beck Rasey shouted. He jogged toward them. “Take your hands off my son.”
“Back off,” Tom warned.
“You gonna make me, hotshot?” He kept coming. Pete’s friends, emboldened, closed ranks with Rasey.