Down the Darkest Road

by Kylie Brant

  “She could do a lot of good.” Instead of foster care, she’d landed with an emotionally abusive grandfather. Cady knew from personal experience how much damage the wrong placement could inflict on a child. “You’re right. Kids would be fortunate to live with her. But I understand your concern.”

  They watched the dogs’ antics as they ate. “I expected you to have a word with Sadie about her gifting choices,” Ryder said. “I see Hero brought the clown with him.”

  “I’m convinced she gave it to him because it freaked her out to have it around.” With delicate greed, Cady made short work of the first slice of pizza. Picked up the second from her plate. “I had hopes of him losing it in the mud today, but no such luck.”

  Between them, they polished off the entire pie before spending a mindless couple of hours watching TV. It was difficult for Cady to ever completely relax. But she leaned companionably against him on the couch while they drank their beers and poked fun at a pointless reality show. She’d never understand the appeal of watching a bunch of strangers’ manufactured drama play out on the small screen. She got more than enough of that in her job.

  “Do you have online access for law enforcement to check old inmate information in your county?” she asked suddenly.

  “Yeah, why?” He turned to look at her.

  Instead of answering, she said, “How far back does it go?”

  “I’m not sure. Ten years or so. Well before I became sheriff, anyway.”

  Which meant the former sheriff had implemented it. Butch Talbot, Ryder’s father. Cady mentally dodged the memories that name elicited. “What about the older records? Are they digitized?”

  “Yes. It’s been a process.” His expression was quizzical. “My dad had them on microfilm, and we’ve since converted them to Digital ReeL. That’s an imaging service that scans the files so they integrate with our records management system. They’re text searchable now. Half the basement is full of file cabinets because Dad maintained paper files as well. I’ve had Stacy—she works the front desk—slowly matching the old files to those on Digital ReeL. If anything’s missing, she scans it into the system. Then the physical paperwork is destroyed. Eventually we’ll be paper-free, but it’s a huge time suck.”

  Cady went silent for a moment, reluctance filtering through her. She’d spent a lifetime building her inner defenses brick by brick until they were fortress strong. But lowering those walls didn’t come easily. Intimate exchanges were expected in a “normal” relationship. She was still uncertain how she’d found herself in one.

  Her gaze remained fixed on the TV screen. “We’ve never discussed it,” she finally said, still not looking at him. “But being from the area, you’ve probably heard about my childhood.”

  Although she didn’t look at him, she was aware of Ryder carefully setting his empty bottle on the end table. “My investigator, Jerry Garza, mentioned it when we were working the Aldeen case. I was a few years older than you in school. Never recall hearing about it when I was a kid.”

  Cady gave a humorless laugh. “I wish I could say the same about my classmates. I bounced in and out of school districts a lot, including the one here. You could say the event sort of defined my childhood.” Defined my life, she mentally corrected herself. It didn’t take a psychologist to understand that her path to the USMS Academy had been paved by the marshals’ failure to apprehend her father for bank robbery.

  She slipped her thumbnail under the bottle’s label, loosening it. “I don’t remember much of the scene. And I can’t be sure whether the recollections I have are mine or planted by others’ retellings.” When she’d peeled off the label, she busied herself folding it into little squares. “But my mom had an episode yesterday and mentioned something. I’m unsure whether what she said is new information or the result of her confusion. So I’d like to look at the case file. The incident report and the statements. See if there’s anything there that wasn’t released to the press.”

  “If we get an early start tomorrow, you might even have time to look in the morning.”

  The tightness in her chest eased a bit at his words. He was making it easy for her. Cady was well aware of how often he did so.

  “People might start to talk, though,” he added. She met his gaze. Recognized the wicked gleam in his eye. “They could say your primary interest in me is my musty archives.”

  She smiled, as he’d meant her to. Her free hand sneaked over to cup him intimately. “I’d never refer to your ‘archives’ as musty. And given your looks, I’m sure most people would realize that my interest in you is purely sexual.”

  Chapter 13

  They’d gotten an early start Monday morning, one that would have been even earlier if Cady hadn’t let Ryder convince her that showering together would be more economical. It was still dark when they pulled into the parking lot of Haywood County’s law enforcement center. In the daylight, it was the spectacular backdrop of the Blue Ridge Mountains behind the building that would draw the eye. But right now, Cady doubted even that would have distracted her. Her entire life—in one way or another—hinged on an event she could barely recall. Her most vivid memories were from the nightmares that plagued her, which further muddied her memory. Police incident reports and witness statements could be relied on to supply fact without the accompanying emotion.

  That didn’t account for the trepidation that was knotting her gut. Best-case scenario was the reports would color in specifics to the scene that had haunted—and eluded—her for years.

  But they would also supply her subconscious with even more details with which to torment her.

  “Shouldn’t take us too long to pull up the file.” Ryder unlocked the door and ushered her inside. “I’ve got a coffee maker in the office preprogrammed. Want to grab a cup?”

  She shook her head. “I still have to pick up Hero at your place, go home and change, and get to work.” Allen didn’t hound them about their hours, and she’d put in extra time yesterday. But she had a full day ahead of her. Tina Bandy would likely have heard that she’d spoken to Dylan. Making another attempt to talk to the woman was a priority.

  Ryder greeted the few employees present and led Cady to his office. Her gaze immediately went to the area behind his desk where the portrait of Butch Talbot had once hung. It’d been replaced with one of Ryder and his staff standing in front of the building.

  When he sat down behind his desk and turned on his computer, she moved to the coffee maker he’d mentioned and poured him a cup. Set it next to him.

  “Huh. Weird.” He frowned at the computer screen. “Your dad’s name doesn’t come up when I search. Your mom’s does, though.”

  “My mom?” Cady looked over his shoulder. This was news to her. “For what?”

  She scanned the documents as Ryder brought them up. “Looks like she made a complaint six years ago. A former associate of Lonny’s looked her up. Made some threats.”

  They exchanged a glance. Six years ago, Cady had been assigned to the Saint Louis office. “She never mentioned a thing.” It was a kick to the chest to realize just how much her mom had kept from her over the years. How much she’d struggled through on her own. Ryder flipped to another document, and she began reading. Stan Caster. The name rang a bell, although she couldn’t put her finger on the memory.

  “Caster was Lonny’s accomplice in the bank robberies they were charged with.”

  Of course. She’d read his name online, as well as the details of the crime. Earlier in his criminal career, Lonny Maddix had confined himself to petty larceny. B and Es. But bank robbery had elicited a federal warrant.

  “So what happened?” He was scrolling through the file too quickly for her to follow along.

  “Not much more in here. Caster seemed to think Lonny had hidden the money and wanted it. Most of it was never recovered. He was picked up after your mom called in. The incident landed him back in prison for a parole violation. It’d be interesting to know if he’s still inside.”

  Her
gut clenched. The problem with sticking her hand into the darkness of the past was she never knew what she was going to find.

  “What year did your dad die? Maybe I can pull up that case by date.”

  Cady told him. A moment later, she added, “It was March.” She’d turned four a month earlier. What did most people remember from that age? Birthday parties? A family pet? Most of the memories from her earliest years had always remained stubbornly blank.

  He remained intent on the screen for fifteen minutes before looking up with a puzzled frown. “That’s weird. I can’t find any information about it at all, and I cross-referenced search terms.” He sat for a moment, thinking. “I guess it’s possible some files got missed when my dad had them put on microfiche.” He grabbed the cup she’d poured for him. “C’mon. Maybe those damn files in the basement will come in handy after all.” She followed him out of the office toward the front door.

  The entrance to the basement was inside the foyer of the building. Ryder unlocked the door and snapped on the light. Once downstairs, she could see that the vast majority of the area was taken up by storage. At least a third of it was devoted to file cabinets.

  “How far has Stacy gotten with the file comparison?”

  “The most recent decade or so.” He searched the labels on the cabinets until he found the year in question. Then he pulled out a drawer. Began to thumb through the folders.

  She watched him for a few minutes. When he slammed that drawer shut and opened the next, Cady turned away. Tension had been growing inside her since entering the building, and it was crying for release. She had to move.

  She’d gotten only a few steps before she came face-to-face with a large framed photo leaning against the wall. Butch Talbot. When Ryder identified it the first time she’d visited his office, she’d finally had a name to go with a snippet of memory that occasionally surfaced before becoming fuzzy and indistinct.

  She’d been about six. Cold beneath the too-thin blanket that covered her bed. She’d slipped out of it and padded barefoot to the kitchen. She could still feel the chilly plank floor beneath her bare feet. Cady could see the girl she’d been standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She couldn’t peg which house it had been. There’d been different ones every year, with enough similarities to meld together. All had cracked linoleum. Sagging countertops. Unreliable appliances.

  And that night, a man had been sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, with her mom on his lap. His uniform shirt was partially unbuttoned and his hand was inside Hannah’s blouse. Shock and fear had held Cady rooted in place.

  Her mom had tried to rise. The man’s arm tightened around her, preventing it. Hannah had brushed the hair back from her face and attempted a smile. “Go on back to bed, baby. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  But she hadn’t moved. Couldn’t.

  “You heard your mama. Get.”

  The man’s rumbling tone had held a command, one the child in her recognized and obeyed. She’d run back to her bedroom and dove under the covers.

  Seeing this portrait in Ryder’s office months earlier had been a shock. She’d since learned that while Ryder worshipped his mother, he was more closemouthed about his father. She had the impression their relationship had been difficult. She recalled him saying Butch and Laura Talbot had celebrated their fortieth anniversary before his death. Which meant the day Cady saw him in their kitchen with her mom, he’d been married.

  “How long was your dad the sheriff here?”

  Ryder’s head was bent over another drawer’s contents. “Thirty-five years or so, I think. Deputy for a few years before that.”

  So he’d been in office when he’d carried on an affair with Cady’s mom. There was no reason to share that memory with Ryder. No reason for her dysfunctional childhood to splash its darkness onto his, which, despite the problems, looked to have been fairly normal in comparison.

  Normal was not an adjective that remotely applied to her past.

  “Well, shit,” he said as he straightened from the bottom drawer of a cabinet. “I’ve gone through two of these and can’t find the case file. I tried the year before, as well, thinking it might have gotten misfiled.”

  “Oh.” Was that relief mingling with disappointment? She was nothing if not a study in contrasts.

  “It’s got to be in one of them. How much time do you have this morning?”

  “Not much more.” She pulled out her cell and looked at the time. “Not any,” she amended. “I appreciate you looking, though.”

  They headed for the stairs. He turned off the lights in the basement before they ascended. “I’ll have Stacy check for it.”

  “All right.” Her cell buzzed in her coat pocket. Taking it out, she saw “State Bureau of Investigation” on the screen. “Sorry, I have to take this.” They entered the foyer, and Ryder relocked the door as she answered. “Maddix.”

  He gave a nod of understanding. “See you later.” His casual pat on her ass would have earned him an elbow to the gut if he wasn’t already moving out of range. Judging from his expression as he strolled away, he knew it too.

  The voice on the other end pushed all thought aside. “Marshal? This is Tina Bandy. You and me need to talk.”

  Chapter 14

  “I’d hoped to find you home when I was here Friday.” With a sense of déjà vu, Cady stepped inside the door into the small dark hall where she’d first spoken to Dylan.

  “I work most days.”

  Cady’s first thought was the last five years had been unkind to Tina Bandy. In the interview clip, the woman had looked jaded. That edge was more pronounced now. She was still slight, with the same partially grown-out dyed blonde hair. But creases bracketed the woman’s mouth, and new wrinkles fanned from the corners of her eyes.

  Tina studied her. “You ain’t what I pictured.”

  Unsure what to do with that statement, Cady ignored it. “As I told Dylan, I’m working the warrants for Bruce Forrester. I wanted to get both of your perspectives about the investigation to this point.”

  Tina narrowed her heavily made-up blue eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Damn state and local cops are worthless—that’s my perspective. Five fucking years and all they got to show for it is two more dead kids and adding a Fed to the mess? How the hell is that s’posed to help? We’ve moved four times. Forrester keeps finding us. So my perspective is maybe you could figure out how that keeps happening.”

  While the investigation hadn’t come up with definitive proof that the man was behind the teens’ homicides, Tina appeared convinced of it. “How do you think he’s found you every time?” She’d posed the same question to Dylan, and while his answer was improbable, it was at least reasonable.

  Tina moved closer, her expression ugly. “You think we’re doing something to lead a killer straight to us, time after time?”

  The woman was as volatile as she’d been in the clip. “No, I’m asking for an opinion.” Although Tina had touched on a possibility. The most likely explanation was a leak in the investigation or one inside the family. There are infinite ways to leave tracks, Cady mused as she watched the woman mentally wrestle with the question. It could be as simple as trusting the wrong person. Being careless with what they said and whom they spoke to. But a continual lack of caution would be mind-boggling, especially with the SBI agents advising and monitoring them.

  Tina turned away, crossing her arms over her chest. “He musta been a bigger dealer than anyone ever knew. Guys like that can have spies all over.”

  Cady hadn’t gotten that impression of the man’s network, but she made a mental note to check with DEA agent Weddig, who would be delving into that side of Forrester’s past. “Would he have known about your sister? That’s the first place you went, right?”

  “Right. Tami. Christ, I need a cigarette.” Tina walked into the living area and picked up a pack from an end table. Lit it and walked back, inhaling deeply. “We stayed with her in Greensboro first off. Until Dylan saw Forreste
r in that truck and another kid ended up dead.”

  “Did your sister know Bruce Forrester?”

  Tina choked before exhaling. “Tami? Only if she met him in one of her bible classes. Truth is, we’d have been heading out even if Forrester hadn’t shown up. Me and my sister don’t exactly have the same views on things.”

  Cady could imagine. She discounted Tina’s idea of Forrester having a vast network of informants. But family. That would have been easy enough for him to discover through any mutual acquaintances in Hope Mills. Tina had frequented the bar scene. Regulars or even bartenders might have overheard that information.

  “Do you stay in contact with your sister?”

  “Some.” Tina lifted a shoulder. “Like I say, we don’t have much in common. But she don’t know where we are. Agents said not to tell no one, not even family. It’s not like she’d want to come visiting.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “My mom’s dead. Going on fifteen years now. Pancreatic cancer. My old man took off when I was young. No idea what happened to him.”

  “And other siblings?”

  “It’s just Tami and me.” She drew deeply on the cigarette again. Blew a perfect ring.

  “Is there anyone in Hope Mills you stay in touch with?”

  She shook her head. “Friends I had there ain’t the staying-in-touch type. ’Sides, the agents said no on that too.”

  “Has Dylan maintained contact with any friends?”

  “How, by carrier pigeon? We don’t got internet, and he don’t got a phone. Just the one SBI gave ’im, and since they pay the bill, it’s for emergencies only. He added your number to it, like you told him.”

  “What about school?” From what Dylan had said, Cady had the distinct impression he was avoiding making friends there. Which had her wondering about his emotional state.

  “I dunno. He don’t mention no one. And he don’t go nowhere.” She stabbed a finger toward Cady. “And that’s the only reason I wanted to talk to you today. Dylan was in a bad way when the cops found him after Trevor’s murder. He was barely able to talk at first. Shrink said he was in one of them fog states.”