The Girl and the Field of Bones (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 10)

by A J Rivers

  “I don’t know about that. Maybe a toxicology report can give us that information. But what I do know is that I see a dead body, locked in a freezer you say should not be working, on a floor, she should not have had access to, with electricity that should not be available. I need answers, Mr. Robinson. And I need them immediately.”

  His jaw opens and shuts a few times, and then he grasps the edge of the cart in front of him and bows his head. I am about to grill him again when a buzzing sound in my pocket stops me. I pull out my phone and grimace when I see the name flash across the screen.

  “I have to take this. Why don’t you go meet the officers outside? I will stay here until they get here,” I say.

  As he reluctantly walks away, I swipe the call button and turn away from Lydia’s forever stare. I can’t bear to see her like that, right now.

  “Hi Millie, what’s—” I begin.

  “Emma, I need to speak to you right now. It’s urgent.”

  Her voice is frantic, and I try to calm her immediately.

  “Millie, calm down; I’m an hour away. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “I just need to speak to you. In person. Please, Emma.”

  The investigation team filters their way into the room, and I back up to let them through.

  “Okay, Millie. I have something I have to wrap up here, but once I’m done, I’m on the road to you, alright?”

  “Thank you, Emma. Meet me in the park. I have to go,” she says, and then abruptly, she hangs up.

  I look down at my phone in confusion and then up to one of the approaching officers.

  “I understand you are FBI?” the man asks. I show my badge and give him my ID number, which he writes down diligently. I proceed to describe the evening to him and then give him my contact information before going back to Mr. Robinson.

  “David,” I say, keeping my voice low, “I have to leave now, but I am not done speaking with you. Something’s wrong here, and I think you know more than you’re telling me. I’ll be in touch.”

  With that, I walk away, back out into the dark ballroom and through to the main hotel.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I snap my phone into the holder on the dash and wait for it to connect to the Bluetooth. As soon as it does, I dial Sam’s number and hit the gas. He answers on the second ring.

  “Hey, babe,” he starts. I hate to cut him off the way I am about to, but there’s no time.

  “I need you and Dean to meet me at the park. Millie called me frantic; she’s really upset and wants to see me in person,” I tell him.

  “Oh. Um, sure. Alright, I’ll head that way in just a few minutes. How far out are you?”

  “I just left. I should be there in a little less than an hour.”

  “It’s an hour away, where you are,” he says, a disapproving tone in his voice.

  “I said I will be there in a little less than an hour. Please, just meet me there.”

  Thankfully for both of us, he decides not to argue. I push the speed up and zip down the road. If someone pulls me over today, I am not above pulling the Bureau card and giving a traffic cop the scare of his career.

  The trip is remarkably smooth, and I arrive in town within about forty-five minutes. My phone call to Dean is even more to the point than the one to Sam, but he will be bringing Xavier with him. When I get to the park, I pull into the large gravel parking area just off the road, and I find Sam’s car. I park beside it, and before I can even exit, Dean pulls in beside me.

  Sam walks over to me and kisses me on the cheek. “You didn’t tell me what happened at the hotel,” he frowns. “Everything okay?”

  “It’s a whole thing,” I shrug, looking up to the entrance to the park. Xavier and Dean wait by the back of Dean’s car, and when we reach them, we all walk together.

  “I guess that’s all I’m getting right now,” Sam says.

  “Once this is over with, I’ll explain it all to you,” I tell him. “I’m just worried about Millie.”

  As if on cue, from the entrance, Millie’s head pops out. She sees us and begins striding toward us, nervously looking over her shoulder before breaking into a run. My instincts pick up, and I start to jog her way. I get a few steps before screeching tires and the growling sound of gravel being spit into the air turns my attention to a black sedan parked near the entrance.

  The driver flings it in reverse and spins it to face directly at us. Millie is between us and the car, and she screams as it speeds toward her, its engine roaring angrily. Before she can dive out of the way, the car lunges at her, gaining speed quickly and overtaking her.

  There is a sick crunch as the wheels roll over her body. I can do nothing but watch horrified as a tire drives her head into the gravel. I realize I am pulling out my gun as I dive out of the way of the oncoming car. Gunshots fill the air as both Sam, and I empty our clips into the car as it passes by, barely missing us.

  The sedan peels out onto the street, trying to make a U-turn. It swerves wildly, and Dean chases after it. It only travels a block before it rolls off the side of the road, crashing into a telephone pole. Sam takes off toward the car, and I stand up, gingerly.

  I look only momentarily at the mangled body of Millie, and then my heart breaks when I see Xavier curled up on the ground, just a few feet from her. His mouth is locked open, and his eyes are wide. One hand reaches out and touches her fingertips.

  I’m torn about where to go. Sam has his gun drawn and is approaching the window of the car, and duty wins over emotion. I run toward Sam, tears stinging the sides of my eyes.

  I change my clip, and I approach the passenger door while Sam goes to the driver’s side. We each take measured, matching steps as we get closer to the front. If there is movement in the seat, we will both likely open fire, and we need to make sure we won't hit each other. As I creep up the side of the car, I notice that both tires have been shot out, one completely flat and the other missing entirely, the rim already dented by the road and the crash. Bullet holes dent the side of the car, and I wonder if I hit the driver.

  I hope I didn’t. I need the answers more than I need the vengeance.

  I reach the passenger window and duck my head down to see inside. Glass is shattered all along the seat from the windshield. The driver had gotten an impressive amount of speed going for the short distance he made it on two wheels before crashing. I am noticing details about the crash, filing them away, noting that none of the bullets seem to have pierced the skin of his legs or arms before I catch Sam’s expression.

  His mouth is agape, and he is staring at the turned head of the driver. I can’t see the face as it is turned away from me, but Sam’s expression tells me he recognizes him. Rather than bother with asking, I run around the front of the car and to his side. What I see stops me dead in my tracks.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper.

  Sitting in the driver’s seat, his eyes glassy but lifeless, is Gabriel, from the grocery store. A small trickle of blood runs down the center of his face from broken glass, and the airbag is deployed to shove him back in his seat. A million questions run through my mind.

  “Why is he dead?” Sam frowns, shaking me out of my own thoughts. “His airbag deployed, and we didn’t hit him with the gunfire. How is he dead?”

  “Almonds,” comes a voice behind me, and I jump. Xavier closes the gap between us and peers inside. “I can smell almonds.”

  Sam looks over from him to me, a pleading expression on his face. I shrug and shake my head.

  “What about almonds, Xavier?” I ask.

  “I can smell them. Bitter. Bitter almonds. It’s cyanide. This man killed himself.”

  I look back down into the lifeless face of Gabriel. Something seems to be stuck on his lip, and now that I have that idea in my mind, I know what to look for. I lean in closer and see it is, in fact, part of a pill.

  “He’s right,” I announce, looking back to Sam and Dean. “He has a part of a pill still in his mouth. He must have chewed that pi
ll when he realized he wasn’t going to get out of here without being caught.”

  “But why?” Sam asks. “Gabriel? I just don’t get it.”

  “What’s that?” Dean asks, poking his head inside. “There is a necklace here. Do you see this, Emma?”

  I lean back in and see a necklace hanging from Gabriel’s body and pooling on the airbag. I take in a sharp breath when I see it.

  “It’s the key. The one that was stolen,” I say. “What is going on?”

  I take a step back; the world reeling around me. Nothing is making sense. And yet, everything seems to be falling into place. I try to turn away from the awful site of Gabriel’s body, and my eyes cross over Millie again. A crowd is already forming at the edges of the park. I will have to get them to go away while we wait for the crime scene people.

  Xavier walks back across the road, seeming not to notice the people who part for him. He goes back over to where Millie’s body has fallen and lies back down where he was when I first noticed him. His hand goes back out and touches Millie’s again. For a long time, I can’t move. I am rooted to the spot, watching him look at her. It isn’t until the sounds of sirens fill the air that I can get myself moving again. My soul hurts for Xavier and the way he is processing what he saw.

  But I am also just completely confused. Before the investigators get to Gabriel’s body, I walk back over to it. I can hear the cop approaching me, and Sam runs interference, just long enough for me to slip the necklace off him and shove it in my pocket. When I walk away, I notice I got a bit of his blood on my hand, and I instinctively wipe it off on my pants as I move on.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Time slides by. I've completely lost track of it.

  I can't stop seeing Millie's face, the blood trickling down it and dropping onto Xavier's arms as he scooped her into them. She just lay there, pouring out her blood onto the ground, and there was nothing I could do. I stood there and watched her murdered right in front of me, and there wasn't a single thing I could do to stop it.

  But it's another face that's hitting me even harder. Gabriel. So young and sweet. Full of life. Until the moment he put that cyanide pill in his mouth and smashed his car.

  I just don't understand. I can't understand.

  Why was he here? Why Gabriel? Why cyanide?

  It's obvious his running over Millie was no accident. Just watching it was proof enough. There wasn't a single second of hesitation or slowing down. She was his target, and he mowed her down. But even if it hadn’t been for watching how he hit her, the fact that he killed himself within moments tells so much. And yet, nothing. He never got a chance to speak.

  And then there's Lydia. Brought out of one freezer only to be stretched across a slab and put into another. No one is taking either of the cases seriously. The investigation into Millie's death has been surface-level, barely existent. The police say it's an open-and-shut case. The solution is right there. It might not make any sense, but Gabriel ran over her, then killed himself out of guilt.

  There's no reason to dig any deeper. It will only cause pain.

  It's different for Lydia, and yet so much the same. The police said the right things. They searched around and took pictures. They watched the same surveillance I did. They searched through the same belongings now packed in the corner of my room because I don't know what else to do with them.

  And all they can say is it had to have been an accident. Her body showed no signs of assault. She wasn't shot or stabbed. Her fingernails were pristine, which means she didn't claw at the door to the freezer or try to get out.

  But that surveillance footage was suspicious. Not in that it showed she was murdered or what might have happened to her. Instead, it was suspicious purely because of her behavior. She seemed erratic, impaired. As soon as they saw that, the police framed the entire situation as a tragic accident, a woman who indulged too much and found herself trapped in a freezer where she passed out and froze.

  Only, there's still no explanation as to why the freezer was even on. The manager admits that section of the hotel is completely off-limits. When the owners decided to stop offering services in that area, they wanted it disconnected from the rest of the hotel as much as possible. Turning off the electricity and water meant no heating or cooling bills. A huge savings.

  Except that there was a freezer left on. Something like that is easy to overlook when you want to cast blame on the woman who died rather than find the real answer.

  Both of these women are dead, and everyone is just pushing them aside.

  I've been torturing myself over it. Even if I am their only voice, I will scream for them. These aren't women I particularly got along with all the time. I clashed repeatedly with them. Disagreed with them. But neither one of them deserved what happened to her. No one had the right to take their lives, especially the way that they did.

  And if it's up to me to find out what happened to them, I will do whatever I need to. I am not the only person whose life these women walked through. And it's for those other people I will make sure neither is forgotten.

  I will be Lydia's voice for Greg and for what he hoped for with her.

  I will be Millie's voice for Xavier and what he once had and still carries inside him.

  I have the TV on just to give me sound. It has faded into the background. I can't even tell what's on until I hear Lydia's name. I look at the screen and see a picture of her smiling out from above the shoulder of the dark-haired news anchor. She's reading out the story as if she doesn't even hear what she's saying. It's just words she's reading, without connecting them to each other.

  She rehashes the story of Lydia's mysterious death, then shifts over to a recorded interview. Rachel Duprey's cold eyes stare at me.

  “Over the last few days, many people have asked me how I feel about this hotel ending up in the news again,” she says. “I'm here to tell you I am angry. I'm offended and upset. And I'm disappointed. It doesn't matter to me that the name of this hotel has been spoken on the news again. It doesn't matter to me that the image of the hotel is being seen all across the country. What matters to me is my father's name is still being linked to it. Ten years after his death, he is still being dragged into a salacious story that should never have been told. For so many years, I have wanted this all to be over and my father's good name to not only be restored but protected. I have taken such strides in that direction, but it is disheartening to see that so many people still want to hang onto what happened outside that hotel twenty years ago rather than know the truth.”

  “Can you confirm that the dead woman was at the hotel investigating your father?” an unseen reporter asks.

  “I can't tell you why she was there,” Rachel says. “I can confirm to you I spoke with her about Lindsey Granger on one occasion. It was a brief conversation because there is nothing more than brief information to offer. I told her the same thing I will tell anyone who asks about that dark incident in my family's lives. Nothing happened. My father was defamed and presented as two things he would never bear to be. A liar and an adulterer. There was no basis to those claims then, and there is no basis now. That's all I will say about the matter.”

  “So, she was at the hotel because of your father?” the reporter asks.

  “I have said all that I will say,” Rachel says. “If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

  I pick up the remote and rewind it so I can listen to the interview again. Something jumped out at me. Something that Rachel said isn't sitting well, but I'm not sure why. After listening again, I go over to Lydia's possessions and pull out her computer and all the notes she made. Digging through them, I start to piece something together.

  A loud sound startles me out of my concentration. It happens again, and I realize something hit the door to my room. I open it and find Xavier with his back pressed against the wall, one hand over his eyes as he struggles to breathe.

  “Xavier,” I say. “What's wrong?”

  He shakes his head, swal
lowing. His mouth moves like he's trying to say something, but no words come out. I try to take hold of his wrist, but he pulls away.

  “No,” he says. “Why me? Why am I here?”

  “I don't know,” I say. “You want to come into my room with me?”

  “Not here, Emma. Here. Why am I here? There have been so many chances. So many possibilities.”

  “Come on inside, Xavier,” I tell him softly.

  His breaths are so shallow and fast; I'm afraid he's going to pass out. His skin is pale and sweat darkens the hair at his temples and makes it cling to his face.

  “I want to take it off,” he says, clutching at his arm, then at his chest.

  “What?” I ask. “What do you want to take off?”

  “My skin,” he says. “I need to get out of it. I can't. I can't be in it anymore.”

  “Xavier, where's Dean?”

  “I don't know,” he says. “Help me, Emma. Help me take my skin off. I just can't. I can't do it.”

  “Yes, you can, Xavier. Come with me. Come into my room with me,” I say.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head adamantly. “Three more days. Did you know that? Three more days?”

  “Until what?” I ask.

  “Three more days,” he repeats. “I have to get it off. It's choking me.”

  The elevator door opens, and Dean rushes out. He looks relieved when he sees Xavier standing with me.

  “I was taking a shower, and he left,” Dean says.

  “Help me get him inside,” I say. “I think he's having a panic attack.”

  “Everything is right here,” Xavier says. “Right here. Right on the tip of my tongue. Right on the edge of my mind. I can't figure it out. It's just not there. We have pieces of a puzzle, but not all of them. It's like putting together all of a person but not having the piece with their eyes. You can't see them. You don't know who they are. They're not all there.”