by RJ Scott
He took my hand and led me to the shower stall in the bathroom attached to his bedroom. It was awkward and messy and funny, but I focused on Josh by pushing everything else to one side.
Drying and dressing, we kept stealing kisses, and I’d never felt this wanted before or had so much sex in such a short space of time. I ached, I was sore, my knees hurt from the floor of the shower, but I didn’t care about any of it. Josh and I weren’t an awkward morning-after mess, and when he unlocked the front door to let me out, he gripped my shirt and gave me a good-bye kiss before straightening my tie.
“Go get ’em, hero,” he said.
I wasn’t a hero. I was just a man doing his job, but Josh’s words made me feel ten feet tall, and one Cali-coffee later, plus a full tray to take to the PD, I started my day with a smile.
“Just what I need right now.” Sawyer fell on the coffee as if it was manna from heaven, but was interrupted after his first blissful sip when his phone rang, and he immediately answered.
I wandered back outside and took a seat at the desk I knew belonged to Logan, then began to write a long list of tasks I had made for myself to keep on track. Avery was in Buffalo, but she was due back this evening. She’d sent some observations on how a couple of the women who had been found might have been connected. I read through the notes she’d sent over, made some notations, jotted down thoughts, and then I was just sitting, waiting for Sawyer to finish.
It would’ve been all too easy to go out there and walk around town, getting involved in all kinds of minor infractions that people thought the FBI should know about or pointed questions about the mayor. As I walked past his office to recycle the coffee cup, Sawyer gestured for me to come in, changing which shoulder was holding the phone pressed to his ear. Had no one ever told him that this was a bad thing to do? He was having some kind of heated debate, and when I stepped into the office and heard his side of it, I knew it was one of those phone calls. The type that wouldn’t make sense unless you lived in small-town Pennsylvania. I sat in the chair opposite his desk, trying not to listen.
“And you have proof?” he asked whoever he was talking to, scowling and shuffling papers in front of him, pulling out what looked like a photocopy of a deed. “No, Mr. Dwyer… yes, but you need—I have that, Mr.—You have to realize we have other things that—Yes, I can see why you might—Okay, well, I’ll pull all the files we have, but I’m not sure… okay… I’ve noted your concerns. Understood. Thank you.” He slowly stretched up from his hunched position and winced as he extended his hands above his head. “Last thing I fucking need,” he mumbled, then scrubbed his face with his hands.
“Can I help?” I wasn’t sure what I could if this was a local issue.
He shook his head, pressed fingers to his temples, and sighed. “This goes back to last November, and it keeps rearing its ugly head, even though I ruled on it and closed the complaint. Vernon “idiot” Dwyer claimed Flatlanders were trespassing on his property when it turned out it was his cousin Joe “bank owner” Dwyer all along. There’s nothing you can do unless the FBI can magic up deeds to parcels of land that probably never even existed in the first place.”
“Flatlanders?”
“Local name for city folks who come out here, pretending they can hunt. Those from Philly, or worse, the Big Apple itself.” He huffed a laugh. “Doesn’t matter how long you live here. Unless you were born here, you’ll always be a Flatlander to the mountain natives, or Ridgerunners, around here.”
“What about if you were born in a small town in rural Michigan?”
“Still a Flatlander, Agent Beaumont.”
I lifted my mug in salute. “So regale me with small-town stories.”
“You mean the Dwyer cousins story?” He huffed a laugh, “That goes way back. Vernon and Joe Dwyer are the last of a family that goes back to when Lancaster Falls was considered a new town. Interesting fact is that it was actually built to house railroad workers and then to support the steelworks which has since shut down. For one reason or another, the cousins own the old Dwyer acreage on the mountain, or at least they have one-third each. The other third was gifted to Lily Dwyer, Joe’s sister, who married Adam Gray. Following that so far?”
He paused to let that sink in, and I knew I must have looked interested.
“Yeah, so far.”
“So, Joe owns the bank, and he accused the younger cousin, Vernon, of trespassing in hunting season. Everyone in town knew it was more a battle over boundaries, but Peter Sandoval, captain at that time, turned a blind eye to most of what was going on. Joe Dwyer, Mayor Stokes, Sandoval, they were all connected financially, all around the same age. Vernon was always going to be left out in the cold, and I know some decisions came down in favor of Joe, which now means that there is bad blood up in them there hills.” Sawyer gave that last part a twang, as if he was up in the mountains himself, then he shook his head. “Stupid.”
“I have the flash drive you gave me, and Tate made sure to cover the intricacies of the old boy network in his day one welcome-to-the-town speech.”
“Tate did that?” Sawyer laughed, and I thought it was the first time in two weeks that I’d seen him smile like that, unless Chris was around, of course, then Sawyer appeared to relax and let some of the tension slip away.
“He was mostly talking about where to get the best coffee, and pastries and how much he loves a girl called Jen, that he doesn’t get to see much.”
“Jennifer Stokes,” Sawyer expanded, and it hit me we were talking about Jennifer Stokes who was actually Mayor Stokes’ daughter-in-law. “I swear this town is just a nest of interlaced stories where some end badly.” He dragged a finger down a sheet covered in scribbles. “Anyway, the Dwyer land issue may have a connection to Adam Gray.”
“Forensics suggest he was shot and died instantly. The body was only then carved postmortem and scattered around.”
“I saw the same report and called the assistant coroner. He said it was reminiscent of a case in Florida, where the body had been cut up into bite-size pieces, suggesting that the murderer hoped the dogs would eat the remains.” Sawyer grimaced. “That’s just twisted.”
“I think your coroner is right.”
“If one of the dogs hadn’t fetched a hand into town, then the first we would have known is when Veteran Services called on us and we paid Adam a visit.”
“What about this land issue then?”
“Like all the best small-town stories, it goes way back to 1880, when Kit Dwyer put a claim on land that extends from the mountain and down into the valley. The same valley that was flooded to form Iron Lake. After he died, the land was split between his two surviving children, the other six having died young. Those two then split the land again, all informally, nothing legal.” He shuffled a deed to the top of the pile. “And this is the only thing that tells me who has what, and it’s Kit’s original claim. After that, it was split twice more, and then to three surviving children of Kit’s descendants. Lily Dwyer who married Adam Gray, Joe Dwyer, bank owner, and his land up by Chris’s cabin, and Vernon who has the rest, which runs clear down to the reservoir. Vernon is still up there, comes into town every so often, but works over in West Falls. Stuck in the middle is where the caves start, and now Joe is claiming rights to Adam’s land. Worse than that, he wants the income from any and all publicity, TV rights, movies, surrounding the remains under Kissing Bridge, and…” Sawyer scrubbed at his face again. “I really don’t want to deal with his shit; this is something for the court system. Joe stating that with Adam dead and him leaving no descendants, all the old Dwyer land should be his, despite Vernon still being alive. He stopped me in the road on the way in this morning. He was agitated, swore that the only way this could be finalized was for him to have the land. The way he sees it is that the final third of the land was his sister’s, Lily Dwyer, and even though she’d married Adam Gray, now that he was dead as well, it should revert to him.”
“You look like you’re questioning something?”
>
“Yeah, I mean, it might be nothing at all.” He frowned at me, but I took great store in listening to every possible theory.
“Go on.” I leaned forward in my chair with the best positive body language I could muster.
He shuffled through the file and pulled out a single piece of paper, then gestured at the map on his wall. “We have evidence that Mayor Stokes was attempting to buy the land from Adam Gray. In fact, there was a letter of intent in his son’s name, Max Stokes.”
“The son is the one who died in his house. Jennifer’s husband.” I knew all about that case, had watched the body cam footage, and gotten a real feel for both Sawyer and Logan before I’d even come to town.
“Yeah, see what I mean about the stories? Well, turns out Mayor Stokes was trying to buy the land. He’s dead. Adam Gray lived there. He’s dead. Joe Dwyer wants his cousin’s land and now Adam’s, and I don’t know if it’s because of this stupid family feud or because there’s something special about it.”
“Gold? Gemstones? Oil?”
“I already had that thought, but calls to the geologist at Penn State tells me what I already know. This whole mountain is carbonate bedrock, and it’s unlikely there’s something natural occurring that would be worth killing over. So all we have are big fat coincidences.”
He stood at his board, and I joined him as we stared at the map of the town. There were marks for the graffiti incidents, the church, the sinkholes, the boundary of Iron Lake, Kissing Bridge, and tacked up next to it was a fading map made with a topographical representation of what I assumed was the land in question, marked into three portions. Along with elevation and trails, it showed structures.
“Adam’s place,” Sawyer said and tapped the map. “And down here is where he sold acreage to the development company to form part of the reservoir. He was the only one to make money in town from that, but it was only cents on the dollar, and it didn’t make him a rich man. This here is what we call the Dwyer cabin, which is on the boundary of Adam’s and Joe’s land and where Joe’s family once lived and was sold off a while back. Then farther up is where Vernon has a place.”
I peered closer. “And what’s this?” It was a rectangle, the same as the other buildings, too big to be a shed. It was on Adam’s land, but there was no label on it.
“That’s the house that Adam and his wife, Lily Dwyer were building. It was half-finished, but it burned down, and she and their son died in there. There’s nothing there anymore, just encroaching undergrowth and the remains of a stone chimney, but on this map, I guess it was enough to be included.”
The links were nebulous, but I’d take anything today including handling the newer murder of Mayor Stokes, but waiting on results was excruciating. If I could get a handle on the land issue, maybe I could get something concrete on Adam Gray’s death. “I’m going to work this today, start with a visit to Joe Dwyer, track down Vernon, walk the sinkholes. You coming with me?”
I didn’t have to ask twice. He opened the door for me, and when we stepped outside, I was happy that the brutal heat, which had gripped this part of PA, had subsided after last night’s storm. I hoped it stuck because the air was fresh, the sidewalk smelled of the rain, and I got the sense that the summer hell might be losing its grip.
I just wished murder was loosening its grip on this town.
We finished the day with nothing new to show for it. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but we didn’t find it. Vernon wasn’t at home, Nicky Farmer informed us that Vernon had a girlfriend in West Falls, one call and we verified that Vernon and girlfriend were on a road trip. I hated that explanation for his absence but there was no reason to think Vernon was lying dead somewhere and the girlfriend’s credit card indicated their road trip had taken them all the way to Buffalo, which wasn’t that much of a road trip really. Also, how the hell did Nicky Farmer know so much about everything? She was like the human Google of Lancaster Falls.
Then there was the lack of anything at the sinkholes. Maybe I was hoping to find traces of something near the sinkhole, but it was just one in a series of fissures in the earth caused by erosion, with weeds growing into the edges and at least two trees in danger of subsiding into it. One of them was only held by roots that curled in and out of whatever earth it could find, and I genuinely thought its days were numbered.
When we got back to town, no better off with knowledge, the first of the forensic results on the accounts for the church and the PD had landed on Sawyer’s desk, but there was no point going through pages of results right now, and we made the executive decision to leave them and call it a night. I headed back to the hotel, feeling the weight of the open cases drop from my shoulders as I stepped inside.
“Hi, Agent Beaumont,” Harry said from his usual position at the desk. I wasn’t sure he had much to do in the way of hotel work. As far as I knew, he just kept an eye on the front door, turned away anyone who failed to see the No Vacancies sign, and did his homework. Sometimes there was another boy with him, Marco, but Harry was talkative and funny, and he reminded me so much of Josh. I enjoyed talking to Harry, seeing the spark of enthusiasm in his eyes, the way he spoke so excitedly about his love of superhero movies, and his friend, Marco, and his dad.
Was it wrong to want to listen to stories about Josh?
“Hi, Harry.” I leaned on the counter and peeked over, and he made no effort to hide the comic book this time. Only next to it was a small sketchbook, and I could see he was trying to copy some of the panels.
“Art,” he informed me with bright eyes and a smile. “Our teacher wanted us to pick something to draw and said it could be anything, so I decided on Spider-Man.”
“Good choice.” I reached out, and we bumped fists. “I’ve always liked art, but I was never any good at it.”
Shyly he picked up the book and turned it so I could see for real, and it was very good. I could see he had skills at recreating the graphics, even if they were half-finished. “What do you think?”
“That’s amazing,” I said and took the book from him, tilting it so I could see better, and then holding it up. “Can I look at the rest?”
“Yeah.” He waited as I flicked through the pages, a lot of pictures of Spider-Man, webs, a couple of the bad guys, and one depiction of an entire scene with fire and cars.
“These are really good. What does your dad think?” I handed him back the book, and he gave a long-suffering sigh.
“You’re the only person I’ve shown. Well, you and Marco, that’s all. I don’t want Dad thinking all I’m doing out here is drawing. He’s all ‘math is important.’” The imitation of Josh’s tone was so spot on that I laughed, and before I could help myself, I leaned in to share a confidence.
“Math isn’t everything, you know.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell Dad that.”
“I won’t tell him—”
“Tell me what?” Josh said from his office, the door wide open so I got my first look at what was behind him. A large desk, the corner of a computer screen, a chair, but not much else. The room had one window with drawn blinds, but it was an incredibly empty place to do accounting, with not a single folder in sight.
“It’s a secret,” I murmured and turned to face Josh, putting myself between him and his son. I winked. “And I’ll never tell.”
He tilted his head and gave me a glance, one that promised revenge at a later date.
Bring it on.
Sixteen
Josh
“Can I talk to you?” I asked after a short pause. Seeing Lucas and Harry close together laughing at something, sharing a secret, had tugged at my heartstrings, and made what I was about to do seem right somehow. I needed to know if the secrets I held were enough to chase Lucas away, whether he wanted to stay or not.
“Sure.” I thought he expected me to start talking in reception with an interested Harry watching, but instead, I went back into my office and gestured for him to follow, locking it behind us.
“If thi
s is kinky office sex, I won’t say no.”
He glanced around, and I wished things were as easy as sex. I pressed the recessed button in the wall, and two screens moved back, revealing the setup I had there.
“What the hell?” he asked.
“Surprise,” I said weakly and made jazz hands.
There were computers behind those panels here that would rival NASA’s, and Lucas could see that. “I’m not sure how to explain about the kind of work I did in here.”
He leaned back against the desk and stared at me. “What exactly did you do?”
“Okay, but you have to promise not to lose your shit.”
His gray eyes sparked with suspicion. “I’m not promising that.”
“I’m a white hat hacker. Despite appearances, and a lack of education, I have a flair for math and code, and I channeled that into becoming a computer security specialist.”
“You’re saying you break into protected systems and networks to test security? That’s not the end of the world, so why do you look so serious?”
“Well, you know that I expose vulnerabilities before malicious hackers can detect and exploit them.”
“Okay, I still don’t understand why this is an issue…” He shook his head. “I guess that explains you locking the door and Harry not coming in here.”
“The last thing I want is for him to see what I find on the dark web.”
I’d had this happen to me before, when I’d said something that I wished I could pull back at the very moment it left my mouth. Lucas’s demeanor changed in an instant. He went from confused but encouraging to dark-eyed and furious.
“You’re on the dark web?” It wasn’t so much a question as a focused statement dripping with contempt.
“It’s where the worst of the hackers go for information. If I don’t see what they see, then I can’t do my job.”
“Josh, we can’t—”
“I don’t go searching around. I’m a member of a couple of hacking forums. I shut things down, and if I’ve come across anything, then I’ve shared intel anonymously with the feds. Only, I get this puts you in an awkward position, what with the FBI shutting things down—”