Runs Deep (23 page)

CHAPTER 62

D
eclan woke up on the couch in the principal’s office around nine. He hadn’t gotten to sleep until nearly four. It had taken a while to get back here from Dee’s last night, and then he’d spent time looking over the files again, this time with the knowledge that Keith had been the one who had taken the evidence that most damned Steve. He just couldn’t figure out why Keith would do that.

He sat up and yawned, his back protesting his uncomfortable sleeping position. He had a few hours before the town meeting. He wanted to look at everything they had on the recent murders. There had to be a connection. There just had to be.

He stood up, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. He was hoping maybe Dee had remembered something else that might help. His mind turned over what Dee had told him over and over again, trying to make some sense of it. It made no more sense now than it had last night.

Unless, of course, Keith was afraid the DNA evidence would come back and
clear
Steve. If Steve was proven innocent, then Keith wouldn’t be the cop who had solved the biggest crime in Millners Kill’s history; he’d be the cop who’d botched the investigation.

That last thought kept rolling through Declan’s mind as he made his way to the police station. Was Keith small-minded enough to railroad a kid for his own political gain? Declan didn’t have an answer for that questions. But he intended to get one.

When Declan jogged up the stairs of the station and pulled open the door, he was surprised to see Dee wasn’t at her desk. He couldn’t ever remember walking in and not seeing her. It was jarring. He looked around just as Russ came out from the back.

“Morning, Russ.”

“Hey, Declan. I was just running out for coffee. Want some?”

“That would be great.” He nodded toward Dee’s empty desk. “Where’s Dee?”

Russ shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her yet. I called her house but didn’t get any answer. Power is out all over the island. I was going to run out there and check on her, but the chief wants coffee.”

Declan nodded, but a twinge of concern was beginning to build. After their conversation last night, Dee had seemed fine. In fact, she’d seemed relieved to finally have unburdened herself. She’d even agreed to write out a statement. Declan had it carefully tucked away in the trunk of his car. He glanced at the desk. Had she felt too guilty or worried to come in?

“You know,” Declan said, “I’ve got some time now. Why don’t I run over and check on her?”

Russ’s relief was palpable. “That’d be great. You know where she lives?”

Declan pictured the little house. “Yeah.” He turned and followed Russ out. “You guys getting a lot of calls?”

“I’ve been running around all night. A couple more people drove into water, not realizing how deep it was. We had two house fires, one heart attack, but no fatalities. I even had to disarm a group of guys over at Mel’s last night.”

“What?”

“They got it in their heads that vigilante justice was the way to go.”

“They were going after Steve?”

Russ put up his hands. “Don’t worry. I talked them down and got their weapons.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I told them they had a choice—hand over their weapons, or go to jail and
then
hand over their weapons.”

Declan smiled. “Nice job.”

Russ shrugged. “But it’s getting ugly out there. People are scared. And some of that fear has turned to anger.”

Declan sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“I got to tell you—I can’t wait for that bridge to be back. I feel like we’re stranded here.”

“Well, that’s because we are.”

Russ gave a laugh. “Guess so. And it’s really beginning to work people up. I better get back out there. See you later.” With a wave, Russ headed across the parking lot.

Declan keyed open his car. As he climbed in, he wondered about Dee.
She’s fine. The roads around her house are probably flooded. That’s all.

“Declan!” Russ’s yell came through the car window loud and clear—as did the urgency in his voice.

Declan jumped out of his car. Russ was at the other end of the lot, standing next to an old white Toyota Corolla. Declan’s heart began to pound. He knew that car. He’d seen it in Dee’ s carport last night.

And there was someone sitting behind the wheel.

Declan ran across the parking lot as Russ opened the door. Dee fell from the car, and Russ reached out to catch her before she hit the pavement.

But it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d hit. From the blood soaking her shirt and the deep slash across her neck, it was apparent that Dee was well beyond caring about a little fall.

CHAPTER 63

S
teve spent most of the morning clearing the yard of debris, and he grew more tense with every car that passed. Thankfully his grandmother was still blissfully ignorant of their late-night visitors.

Steve had cleared the small branches out of the yard, but now he needed to tackle the big job: the tree that had toppled over, roots and all, into the driveway. He’d have to break out the old chainsaw to take care of that.

He picked up the chainsaw and headed for the tree. He chuckled. If the phones were working, the whole block would probably soon be calling the police station with the news that a murderer was wielding a chainsaw in the suburbs.

He glanced over at Micah’s house.
I’ll check there when I finish up here.

His grandma stuck her head out the door. “Steve, honey, could you clear the Griffiths’ next door? Their kids are out of town.”

“Okay. After I finish this up.”

She smiled and ducked back in the house.

The Griffiths were a little older than his grandmother, and he’d known them most of his life. He’d also seen them turn their back on his grandmother when he was arrested. But good Christian woman that she was, his grandmother had never turned her back on them.

It took Steve another hour before he had cut down the tree and stacked the wood next to the back door. He leaned against the stack and took a swig of water as he looked over at the Griffiths’ yard. He could tell it had been neglected even before the storm had come along. Now tree branches were strewn across it, and they, too, had had a tree come down. It looked like it had missed their garage by only a few inches.

Putting the cap back on his bottle, Steve grabbed his gloves and headed over to the Griffiths’. He started in the front yard, because there weren’t as many branches down there. He piled them all at the curb, although who knew how long it would be before the town picked them up.

Then he headed down the driveway toward the back yard. He hadn’t seen any movement inside the house. Maybe the Griffiths were out of town. He put them out of his mind as he started piling up the debris from the back yard.

But on his fifth trip from the back yard to the curb, Steve heard the unmistakable sound of a round entering a shotgun. He went still.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Steve looked over his shoulder. Mr. Griffith stood there in his bathrobe. His white hair sprang out from his head. His hands shook, and Steve worried the shaking might set off the gun. He knew it wasn’t all from fear. His grandmother had told him that Mr. Griffith had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s a few years back.

“Mr. Griffith, it’s me. It’s Steve.”

Mr. Griffith held the gun higher. “I know who you are. I asked what you’re doing in my yard.”

“My grandmother asked me to clear the yard of debris. See?” He gestured with his head toward the end of the drive. “I’ve already cleared your front yard.”

“We don’t need no help from the likes of you.”

“Harold, put that gun down this instant!”

Mrs. Griffith came barreling down the back stairs. Where Mr. Griffith was skinny as a pole, Mrs. Griffith was large as a bus. Steve and Jack had often joked when they were kids that she must be eating all of his food.

“This murderer’s—”

“I know, Harold.” She reached her husband’s side, placed a hand on the barrel, and slowly lowered it until it pointed at the ground. “It’s all right. I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s not right what he—”

“No, but we talked about this. Now you go on inside. I made some snickerdoodles.”

“Fine.” He gave Steve a hard look. “But you remember I have this.” He held the gun by the barrel.

“Yes, sir,” Steve said, feeling relief as he watched Mr. Griffith walk into the house. He turned back to Mrs. Griffith. “Thank you.”

“Well, as a Christian I couldn’t in good conscience let him shoot you.” She looked down her nose at him. “Some of us take the Bible seriously.”

“Yes ma’am. Uh, do you want me to finish?”

She looked around, her face tight. “Yes, thank you.”

Steve could tell it pained her to be kind to him. “Sure, no problem.”

He adjusted the burden in his arms and headed toward the curb.
Made it through ten years locked up to be nearly taken out by a born-again geriatric.

Steve dumped the pile of branches by the edge of the road and headed to the Griffiths’ back yard. It was time to tackle the tree that had come down near their garage, and that meant he’d need the chainsaw. Hopefully the sound of it wouldn’t send Harold into a shooting spree.

As he want back to his grandmother’s porch to fetch the chainsaw, he saw an old, dark green Ford F150 drive slowly by. The same truck had driven by at least twice before. There were three guys in the front seat, all with ball caps and scruff. Steve didn’t need to be psychic to know they were watching him.

But he’d had enough of pretending he didn’t see them. He stepped to the edge of his gran’s porch, crossed his arms, and stared at the truck as it passed.

The window rolled down. “Murderer!” one of the men yelled before peeling down the street. Steve watched them go, not bothering to try and get the license plate. He knew no one would go out of their way to track those guys down.

As he headed back to the Griffiths’ yard, he thought about Jack’s comment from earlier about winning the town over.

Yup—Jack is definitely too optimistic to be a politician.

CHAPTER 64

D
eclan nodded at Edgar Fundley as Russ pushed the stretcher into the funeral home. “Mr. Fundley.”

Edgar looked at the body bag on the stretcher and pressed a handkerchief to his mouth. “Oh my.”

After discovering Dee’s body, Declan had processed the scene as quickly as possible. The last thing they needed was the town learning there was another murder—especially right before the whole town was gathered together. Crowds tended to whip emotions up, not calm them down.

So he and Russ had loaded Dee into a body bag as quickly and quietly as possible outside the police department. Luckily, no one had been seen them. Then they’d loaded the bag into Russ’s cruiser and headed straight to the funeral home. By some miracle, no one had seen them. Thank God for the town meeting.

“Russ,” Declan said, “can you push that down to the end of the hall?”

“Sure thing.” Russ headed down the hallway with the stretcher.

Declan turned to Edgar. “Mr. Fundley, I cannot stress enough how important it is that you stay quiet about this.”

“But someone’s been murdered—”

Declan cut him off. “Yes. And we
will
find that someone. But right now we need to keep the town calm. Announcing another death will only make people panic.”

Edgar nodded, but his eyes were following Russ and the body bag.

“Mr. Fundley,” Declan said.

Edgar jerked his eyes to Declan. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Declan studied the funeral director for a minute. The man looked paler than normal—as if he might pass out if someone breathed heavily near him.

Declan sighed. He would have to trust the man to stay quiet. He had no choice. With a nod at Edgar, he headed down the hall to Russ.

“We sure this is the right course of action?” Russ asked, not looking at Declan.

Declan jabbed the elevator button. “Russ, you had to disarm a lynch mob last night. Announcing Dee’s death is not going to do anything but work the town up. We need to keep this quiet until the bridge is open.”

“But why kill Dee? Why now?” Russ asked.

Declan thought back to his conversation with Dee last night. As far as Declan could tell, the only people who knew that Keith had taken the evidence were Dee and Keith, and now him.

And what about Keith?
Declan thought. It was Keith who had found the bloody clothes in the first place—after two other searches of Steve’s house hadn’t turned up anything. Had there even been an anonymous report, as Keith had claimed, or had Keith
put
the clothes there? And if he’d put them there, where the hell had he gotten them from?

Did that have anything to do with Dee’s death? He didn’t see how. No one could have known about it. “I don’t know.”

“She was killed the same way as Elise,” Russ said.

“I know,” Declan said as the doors opened. “Listen, why don’t you head back? I’ll take Dee. You’re going to be missed soon, and it’s getting close to the meeting time.”

Russ nodded. “Okay.” He started to head away, then turned back. “What do I say about Dee if anyone asks?”

Declan pushed the stretcher into the elevator. “Tell them you haven’t spoken with her.”

Russ clamped his jaw shut and nodded before striding back toward the entrance.

When the elevator doors opened onto the basement, Declan wheeled Dee down to the embalming room and shifted the body bag from the stretcher to the table. He paused for a moment, then unzipped the body bag.

Dee’s pale face stared back at him, her eyes and mouth open in horror.

She’d had such a tough life. And just like Elise and Mel, she deserved so much better than this.

“I’m so sorry, Dee.”