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

by A J Rivers

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  I nod. “Lilith told me she could never escape the reminder of what she did. But it was right there all the time. That's because her husband did have a mistress, and she was buried right by the cornfield, where she was forced to work every day.”

  “She killed Lindsey Granger?”

  “No,” I say. “I'll explain everything to you. But I need crime scene pictures. I need pictures of the skeleton.”

  There's no way I can get out tonight. The only thing ahead of me is a long shower, and as much sleep as my body will give me. I know it's not going to be deep or restful. I'll be waiting every second for a phone call from the hospital. Dean is by Xavier's side, but Lilith is alone. I want her to know she hasn't been abandoned again.

  The next morning, I wake up with every inch of my body in pain. My head throbs and swims. My mouth and throat feel sticky, as if I haven't had anything to drink in months. But I still pull myself out of bed. I have to. This has waited long enough.

  Taking the pictures Sam brought me, I start the long drive. Sam knows where I'm going. I don't look in the rearview mirror, but somehow, I know he's there. Maybe somewhere in the distance. But he's there.

  When I get to Rachel Duprey's office, I walk up to her receptionist and ask to see her.

  “She doesn't wish to speak with you,” the receptionist says.

  “Try again, please,” I say. “Tell her I need to speak with her about Lindsey's sheet.”

  With a confused look on her face, the receptionist picks up the phone and calls into Rachel's office. Seconds later, the door opens, and Rachel storms out. Gone are the measured, hyper-controlled strides. They’ve been replaced by heavy stomps, and the glare contorting her face is a far cry from the smile she paints on for every good cause and special event.

  “I warned you,” she says. “I gave you ample opportunity to act like a decent human being and not put yourself in legal trouble.”

  “I suggest you stop there,” I interrupt. “Before you say something you won't want to be brought up in your trial.”

  Her eyes flicker over to the receptionist and back to me. She shifts uncomfortably.

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” she says.

  “You got my message. I think you understand it,” I say. “And if you don't. I have pictures here I would be more than happy to show everyone in the office. Unless, that is, you'd like to have a private conversation.”

  She looks at her receptionist. “Mary, take the rest of the afternoon off.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks. “If you don't want to be alone…”

  “I'll be fine,” she says. “Please let the others know as well.”

  The receptionist gets up to leave. I keep my eyes locked on Rachel. When everybody else in the office is finally gone, Rachel gestures me through her door. I step inside into her suit and take the folder out of my bag.

  “You know, I really wanted to believe you,” I start. “I really wanted to think you could be the good person everybody else thinks you are.”

  “I am that person,” Rachel says.

  I let out a short, merciless laugh. “I don’t know whether you’re just trying to convince everyone around you, or whether you actually believe it. But even you can't completely let go of it. You think you have. You think you've done enough good in this world to cover it up. But even you are still carrying it in your heart.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rachel asks.

  “When you were doing the news interview, you said your father shouldn't be held responsible for something that happened outside that hotel twenty years ago,” I say.

  “Yes,” Rachel says. “He shouldn't. He didn't have anything to do with Lindsey Granger and whatever happened to her. Neither of us did.”

  “Then how did you know something happened to her outside of the hotel?”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “Everybody knows Lindsey Granger walked out of that hotel,” Rachel says.

  Her voice shakes slightly.

  “But you know why,” I say, drawing one of the pictures out of the folder and showing it to her. “Tell me, Rachel, what did you say to her? How did you get her to meet you outside? Did she think your father was going to be there?”

  She stares at the picture, her mouth trembling as she tries to find the next lie. In an instant, her eyes change. Something in her mind releases, and she's not trying to hide anymore. Words she has wanted to say for years bubble up inside her, and she has to release them.

  “Yes,” she says. “I told her my father was waiting for her.”

  “He loved her, Rachel. Did you know that?”

  “No, he didn't,” she snaps. “He didn't love her.”

  “Yes, he did. Even Lilith knows that,” I insist. “If you had really wanted your father to be happy, you would have let him be with her. But instead, this is what you did to her.”

  I take more of the pictures out of the folder and toss them onto the desk in front of her. She reaches out and touches the pictures, her fingertips soft on their edges. She looks as if she's in a daze, not sure if she's actually here or not.

  “I couldn't let her ruin him,” Rachel says. “He had an affair. Men do that. All the time. But it can destroy the reputation and career of a politician. Especially one who is just getting started. I knew my father would do great things. From the time I was a little girl, I knew he would be one of the most powerful men alive.”

  “And how many times in your life have you said that?” I asked. “How many times have you said those words? Because you've now told me twice. Is it the narrative that you give everybody else, or the one you give yourself?”

  “I had to fix it,” she says. “He couldn't help it. Lindsey Granger seduced him. I had to make sure everything was okay again. I needed to make her go away. But I didn't intend to hurt her.”

  “Is this what you call not hurting her?” I ask, pointing at the pictures.

  “It was an accident,” she says. “I never intended to kill her. I wanted to offer her money. That's what I figured she wanted, anyway. I didn't think anything mattered to her but prestige and wealth. If I could give her enough money to set herself up with a good new life, she wouldn't need to keep interfering with my father. But she said no. She said she loved him.”

  “So, why didn't you believe her?”

  “I thought she was just holding out for more. She knew she could cause a divorce between him and Lilith, which would be detrimental to how the public saw him. Nobody would trust him after watching him go through an extremely public divorce based on adultery. She was using it for leverage.”

  “Or, she was telling the truth,” I reply. “She really did love him. Is that why she wore that ring?”

  I point at the old ring found among the bones.

  “I offered her a lump sum, then payments every year. She refused it. She was walking away from me. She was going to go call my father. I had to stop her. Just so that I could talk to her more. I reached out to grab her, but she moved away from me. There was a party that night, and a delivery truck was sitting right outside the door to the freezer. It was full of linens. When she turned, she slipped, and her head hit the back of the truck. When she landed on the pavement, I didn't know she was dead. I thought it had just knocked her out.”

  “What did you do? Did you call for help?”

  “No,” she says. “I panicked. If I called for help, everything would have come out. I had already come this far. I needed to keep going. The sheet was still warm from the laundry. They must have just washed it before putting it in the delivery truck. I wrapped her in it and put her in the trunk of my car. My father had a fundraiser that night, just as I told you. I had to make an appearance.”

  “You went to a fundraiser with the body of the woman your father loved stuffed in your trunk?" I ask.

  Rachel runs her hand down the front of her throat as if she's holding back bile.

  "After I greeted a few people and saw m
y father, I had to take care of her. The only place I could think of was the cornfield."

  "Why?" I ask. "Was your father in The Order of Prometheus?"

  "Yes," she says. "He became close with some members of the chapter in Harlan. He let me ride with him once when he came to meet with them in the cornfield. He told me they had business to handle."

  "A body to get rid of," I remark.

  She nods again. She must think if she doesn't say it out loud, it's not true.

  "He didn't know that I knew. He thought I didn't see anything. He didn't know I followed him back three more times."

  "You knew your father helped dispose of people, and you still thought he was a good man?" I ask.

  "Yes," she says. "He was. He was a good man. And I was going to make sure he stayed that way. I got rid of Lindsey so he could be a good husband, even if I can't stand Lilith. I devoted my life to building him up and creating his career. I atoned for what I did. I fixed it."

  "And Lydia Walsh?" I ask.

  She shakes her head, closing her eyes and resting her fingertips over them for a moment.

  "She just wouldn't stop. Neither of you would. She kept digging and digging. She was getting far too close to figuring it out. She might have already. So, I invited her to come to the hotel and get an exclusive with me. From spending so much time in the hotel when I was younger, I know more about it than the people who work there now, including where to find the circuit breaker. A fling with a maintenance man gave me that information."

  She giggles, and I stare at her incredulously. "It's good enough for you, but not for your father?"

  Her smile drops. "A fling. Three months and that was it. He could never be anything more, and both of us knew it. But he proved useful, didn't he?"

  "I'm sure he would be thrilled to know he helped you freeze someone to death."

  "Don't worry about her too much," Rachel says. "The drugs would have made her pass out well before the cold got her. It was a comfortable, easy death."

  "Why did you drug her?" I ask.

  "To make her more cooperative and easier to control. I needed to get her to follow my instructions and be caught on the security camera looking impaired. Then I led her out of the hotel and onto the loading dock. From there, I showed her the door to the kitchen and slipped her into the freezer. At that point, she was barely able to stand. She likely fell asleep in seconds."

  "Don't try to sound compassionate. You built a life around lies and murder. Did you create the sightings of Lindsey Granger, too?"

  "Yes," she says. "I couldn't let my father get hurt. Lindsey was an accident. Then when Lydia came, I couldn't let his legacy be ruined. It was just one more. And if you had just left well enough alone, that would have been it. But you couldn't. I won't let you hurt my father. "

  "He was a wife-beater and a philanderer," I say. “And if not a murderer himself, an accomplice to murder.”

  "Don't say that," she growls, her eyes wide.

  "They know who Lindsey is now," I say. "They'll find her family and do a DNA test."

  She shakes her head. "No. You. You caused this. If you're gone, it will all be gone. I won't let you hurt him."

  She dives at me, her hands stretching for my neck. I try to reach behind me to grab my gun, but she is too fast, and I abandon that idea. Our arms tangle, and she pushes me into the wall, where we crash, pictures falling and shattering glass around us.

  I feel my head pulled back as she yanks on my hair. As I slam my hip into her stomach, the wind escapes her lips, and she loosens her grip. I grasp her shoulders and sweep her leg, forcing her down. As we land, her head bounces up, and I slip, smashing down into it. Her forehead catches me on the bridge of the nose, and an explosion of pain rifles through my face. Blood flows like a faucet, and I know it is broken.

  The momentary distraction gives her a moment to scoot away from me. She kicks, her heel digging hard into my hip. She kicks rapid-fire into my side with both feet, and I curl up to block them. The broken nose makes my eyes water, and I rub my forearm across them to wipe them. When I look back at her, the kicking stops, and she scrambles to her knees, moving away from me.

  I get to my feet quickly and grab her around the waist from behind. Popping my hips forward, I lift her and bring her flying backward, landing on her shoulders. The crunch of her body couples with the destruction of the room. A chair gets knocked over, and more things fall off the wall. Glass cuts into my cheek as I roll over onto my stomach. It digs into my hands, and it feels as if it’s my lungs, a powder of shrapnel, making it harder to breathe.

  My wounds slow me down, and I am not up as fast as I want to be, dragging my body to respond. We reach our feet around the same time, and I lunge forward, swinging a fist at her. She ducks and tackles me around the waist, shoving me back. We crumple together on the ground.

  She doesn’t move fast enough, and I slam my elbow down onto the side of her head. She cries out in pain, and I do it again. One hand reaches up to claw at my face, and I feel the adrenaline rush of my training kicking in. She is in the perfect position, and I have a split second to react.

  I kick my legs up, wrapping the arm between them. I push down on my heels to get me up for just a second, and then a fall back hard, pulling her arm with me. I can hear the shoulder snap as I land and know I either dislocated it or broke it. This would be where she falls apart into a crying mess, and I can keep her docile until help arrives.

  Twisting the grip I now have on her wrist, I wrench the shoulder even further, and she screams. I tighten my legs around her, then pick up one foot and slam it down on her chin. The resistance in her arm lessens. I do it again, and it all but stops.

  “Are you done?” I call out to her, but she doesn’t respond. I wrench on her wrist again, applying more torque to the shoulder, but she doesn’t cry out again. She must be unconscious.

  I shove her hand away and spin to a sitting position. I have only let her go for a second and am reaching out to grab her hand again when she suddenly turns toward me, and points my gun at me. I barely have time to fall backward as a shot rings out. I am on my back as the hand with the gun follows me, and I kick at it. The grip loosens, the gun falling to the ground beside me. I roll toward it, gathering it up in my hand and turn on my side to face the fleeing Rachel as she makes her way to the door.

  I pull the trigger.

  She slumps against the wall, crying out again, her fingers slipping off the door handle. At the last second, I had pulled the gun down from aiming center mass and shoot at her leg instead. She crumples, a silent scream stuck in her throat as she holds her thigh with the only arm that still works. Blood seeps through her clothes and around her fingers as she slides further down onto the ground, writhing in pain.

  I sit up and realize my left arm didn’t move with the rest of my body. I look down at it and see blood pouring out of a bullet hole, directly in the center of the still-healing gash from the scythe.

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” I cry out at the arm that now suddenly overwhelms me with pain. I glance back over at Rachel, her face a mask of tears and bruises. I point the gun back at her and scoot back, so I rest against the far wall to wait. Before long, Sam will get here with backup. Until then, I sit, gun trained.

  The sound of the door splintering under Sam’s boot is one of the greatest things I have ever heard. It cuts through the pain and reminds me I’m still here. A team rushes in and surrounds us, but I won’t back down.

  “Emma,” Sam says from beside me, resting one hand on my back and the other on my gun. He gently eases it down. “Come with me.” He lifts me up into his arms, and I hear him talking into his radio. “I need a bus. Officer down. Agent Griffin has been shot.”

  He looks down at me and pulls me close to his chest. My blood seeps into his shirt, but he only presses closer.

  “Sam,” I murmur.

  “I’m here,” he says. “You’re right here with me.”

  I hear Xavier’s voice in the back of my mind
. You are where you are. She doesn’t want to tie her soul here. In that moment, I know the place, the surroundings, that matter to me the most is Sam. And he is where I want to tie my soul.

  “Sam,” I murmur again. He looks down into my eyes. He’s fading, but I hang on long enough to say the words. “Marry me.”

  Epilogue

  Four days later …

  “Why do you get to leave your room?” Xavier asks. “They won’t let me.”

  “That’s because you can’t get out of your bed,” I say. “It’s a lot easier to move around after getting shot through the arm than it is after breaking your hip and two ribs and separating your shoulder.”

  “They could put me on one of those table things. Strap me to it and then stand me up and wheel me around,” he argues.

  “Like Frankenstein?” Dean asks.

  “Frankenstein’s monster,” Xavier corrects him. “Though, I suppose Dr. Frankenstein could have tested it. Or just ridden around on it for fun.”

  “If you find one of those, get me a matching one,” I say. “This wheelchair still hurts all my bruises.”

  “The metal head strap stabilizing the upper half of your body probably wouldn’t feel much better,” Xavier points out. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You have got to stop disappearing from your room,” Sam says, coming in and dropping a kiss to the top of my head.

  “I didn’t disappear. I came to see Xavier.”

  “How did it go?” Dean asks.

  Sam nods and sits down on the chair beside Xavier’s bed. It positions him near both of us, and I reach over to hold his hand.

  “It went well. Rachel is facing enough charges to make the judge yawn when she was reading them out. Lindsey Granger’s family was there. They wanted me to thank you, Emma. For finally bringing Lindsey home.”

  “I didn’t find her,” I say. “It wasn’t just me.”