Eyes straying to the closet stretching across the entire wall opposite the bed, Sydney understood that before she began to consider selling the house, she would have to open up the drawers and boxes hiding behind those slatted wooden doors to reveal their contents. Not knowing what secrets lay inside made the prospect more of a threat than a promise. A daunting task fit only for another day.
Over coffee and a toasted English muffin out on the deck, Sydney studied the notes and lists she had compiled the previous evening. Of particular interest was a teacher by the name of Rebecca Wade. Although not a victim of the shooting, Wade had been quoted in one of the Modesto Bee articles, in which she had stated her disbelief at the gunman’s identity. Sydney thought this woman sounded as if she’d offer a more balanced view of Kevin Muller than others whose comments she had read.
It was still early, the heat yet to become stifling. Above the trees which swayed gently in a breeze her flesh did not feel, a cloudless blue sky spoke of another day of relentless sunshine. Fall weather was overdue in gold country, and for a few moments Sydney missed San Diego and the fine chilly mist that would be settling in over the ocean front like tattered gauze.
Soon enough, she told herself. There was work to be done.
The first person she called that morning was FBI Special Agent in Charge, Jason Doman, at the Sacramento field office. Although the shooting was over by the time the Bureau arrived on scene, Doman was the agency’s senior presence connected with the case, and the massacre was a federal matter because it had occurred on school grounds. He would have had oversight of the entire investigation, and she wondered if he was the kind of man to indulge an element of both personal and collegial curiosity.
Relieved to have been transferred directly to Doman as opposed to a member of his team, Sydney introduced herself before describing a vague interest in the incident on behalf of her fellow townsfolk. She made no mention of her current sabbatical status, nor that she was working for the father of the slain gunman, but she did put Muller’s theory out there.
‘First I heard of it,’ Doman said. He had a deep southern drawl, and Sydney hoped their conversation was not going to be peppered with myriad homespun philosophies extolling the virtue of crawdads and ‘gators. ‘Sounds to me like a grievin’ father tryin’ to protect a son’s reputation. Can’t say I blame the man.’
Her fellow agent’s admission caught Sydney out. ‘So you never received from either the Tuolumne county sheriff or Sonora PD a report outlining Dexter Muller’s complaint?’
‘Not that I’ve seen. Nor that I am aware of. It’s possible it was filed away somewhere and has been kickin’ around all the while, but as far as I’m concerned the package was all wrapped up for me and my team by the time we got there, and everything brought to my attention subsequently pointed to a lone gunman. You say this report was sent to our office, Agent Merlot?’
‘I don’t know for certain that it was. Forwarding it on to you would have been correct procedure.’
‘Yeah. And with the greatest respect to the Tuolumne county sheriff’s department and local PD, the fact that it’s procedure doesn’t mean it got done by the book. I’m bettin’ that report is still sittin’ on a desk somewhere back there in Sonora. Nobody enjoys havin’ the FBI dancin’ on their toes. You must know that yourself.’
‘Sure. I do. So tell me, SAC Doman, if you had seen such a report, what do you think you would have done with it?’
She heard him take a deep breath and release it again while he gave that some consideration. Finally, he said, ‘My initial thought would have been precisely what I said to you a few moments ago. That the man was tryin’ to help his son out. I won’t pretend I’d have wasted time on it myself, but I probably would’ve assigned a junior agent to it. Suggested a drive down to Moon Falls, a discreet conversation with Muller, and a quiet chat with Sheriff Lowe.’
‘So you don’t believe it went down the way Muller claims?’
There was another pause. Sydney got the impression this one was different and that she had perhaps pushed too far. Anxiety built inside her chest.
‘Agent Merlot, what exactly is your interest here, if you don’t mind my askin’? Only, what I think I’m hearin’ in your voice leads me to surmise that you’re not askin’ questions in order to provide reassurance to the town, but rather to do some Monday mornin’ quarterbackin’.’
Sydney readjusted her tack. Doman was more on the ball than she had anticipated. ‘That’s not it at all. In fact, I already spoke to the sheriff about it. As he pointed out, he was there, and neither myself nor Dexter Muller was. You weren’t, either, of course. The evidence, as I understand it, certainly points towards Kevin Muller being the gunman. What I asked Lowe and what I’m asking you, sir, is whether you think it’s possible for Muller’s theory of events to be true.’
‘Okay, well then I’ll tell you what I think. I think it’s a nice story. Pretty much the only version to believe if you wanted your son to be innocent. But it lacks substance. What’s more, it’s also lackin’ an alternative suspect.’
‘Mr Muller would be within his rights to point out that it lacks both because nobody investigated the possibility.’
‘Mr Muller would be within his rights to point that out, or you are pointin’ that out, Agent Merlot?’
‘Both.’ Sydney’s pulse raced, and a trickle of sweat ran down the curve of her spine. She hoped the cotton T-shirt she wore soaked it up without staining. Sydney had wanted to avoid this type of confrontation, but here they were and she was not about to take a step backwards.
‘Look,’ she added, hoping to steer the conversation in her favour, ‘I’m bringing this to you as a courtesy. I didn’t want to see a fellow agent blindsided. I know how slowly the administrative wheels can turn, so I wanted to make sure that when Mr Muller makes a complaint you are not caught off guard by it.’
After a lengthy pause, Doman said, ‘Well, then let’s do us both a favour. Should a report land on my desk, I will give it due consideration. But that report will have to come from either the local PD or the sheriff, together with a copy of Mr Muller’s original statement. It will arrive here at our offices and will eventually work its way up to me. That’s procedure, Agent Merlot.’
Sydney swallowed and went for it. ‘Unless the sheriff decides to send it all to your direct email account, SAC Doman. That way it’d be with you today. Speed things up.’
‘Just so long as you realise there might be a good deal of time between when I receive a request and when I act upon it. I got active cases to focus on.’
‘Of course, sir. I understand that. By the way, one thing I’d like to ask you. Dexter Muller told me there was a “Thank You” card in the holdall his son was carrying. Sheriff Lowe confirmed it. But so far nothing I’ve read or heard from anybody else suggests the media know about it. All I’ve seen mentioned is a vague note of some sort. Is that right? I only ask because I don’t want to let slip something people are not supposed to be aware of.’
‘Yes, you’re on the right lines. At the time, I thought it best to finesse that piece of information. We believe the card was Kevin Dexter’s way of thanking us for ending his life. One or two voices of dissension suggested it might come across as questionable, and we did not want the media to blow hot on it. So yes, we referred to a note confirming the boy’s intentions but did not reveal the precise content. Your sheriff friend agreed with our assessment, as did the Sonora police department.’
‘Okay. Good to know. Given the way the media like to pounce on any irregular detail, I think you’re probably right to have done so.’
After a bit of huffing, Doman said with a growl, ‘Well, getting your approval makes me feel all warm and cosy, but I ask again, what is your interest in this? And please, don’t feed me that same line of bullcrap, Agent Merlot.’
The cautious side of Sydney’s nature screamed at her to bail out. She was in free fall, the result of which was only going to be messy for her. The other side insist
ed she go for it and hope for a soft landing. Caution was seldom one of her traits.
She informed him that her interest was two-fold. First, if Kevin Muller was not the gunman most people believed him to be, then he should be exonerated and his name cleared. Second, if the gunman wasn’t Muller, then whoever murdered fourteen children out at Moon Falls High School, and deliberately got a fifteenth gunned down by the cops, was still at large and possibly walking the streets around town thinking of ways to pull off a similar act of violence and mass slaughter.
‘You genuinely believe that to be true, Special Agent Merlot?’ Dolan’s tone was querulous rather than annoyed. ‘You ever heard of Occam’s Razor?’
Sydney had. It was the law of parsimony. Basically suggesting the simplest solution tended to be the right one. ‘I understand what you’re saying, sir, but the observation is by no means definitive.’
‘And you think what we had over there in Moon Falls two months back was more complex? That a student so psychotic that he wanted to kill a whole bunch of his fellow students, somehow did so and then manipulated another youngster to go outside afterwards and take the fall?’
‘If it happened that way – and I do mean if, SAC Doman – then I don’t believe Kevin had any clue as to how things would turn out. If it happened at all, then I’m pretty sure he was duped into thinking it was all a game or some kind of joke, and that his role in it was to walk across to the cops waiting outside and to deliver the card lying at the bottom of the holdall. Dressing up was all part of the fun for him.’
‘You make it all sound so perfectly reasonable,’ Doman scoffed.
‘I’m not arguing that. I’m arguing that it’s possible. And you know something, the more I think about it the more plausible it becomes. I know we’re in the results business, SAC Doman, but surely we’re also interested in the truth.’
The witness Benton Lowe had mentioned still bothered her, but until she knew more about them and what they had to say, Sydney was putting the notion to one side. Benton had become curiously vague on the matter when she’d attempted to push him on it further, and she suspected there was more to this supposed witness than he had admitted to.
After a further moment of silence, Doman spoke again, only this time his voice was quieter and more thoughtful. ‘Merlot, I hear you. I do. But there is somethin’ else in play here. Somethin’ you may not have considered. That boy was shot to pieces. I mean literally shot to pieces. There were a lot of men and women out there with guns who were all pretty jacked up on adrenaline by the time your gunman stuck his hand inside that bag of his. Do you imagine many of them bein’ overly helpful, or welcomin’ a follow-up investigation into what happened that day?’
‘No. No, I don’t. I’m not that naïve. I think that exact same reasoning explains why they have turned their backs on Dexter Muller and ridiculed him. Doesn’t make him wrong.’
‘Doesn’t make him right, either. You see what’s at stake here? This case turns around on itself and ultimately proves that boy wasn’t the gunman, then every cop and deputy and even the sheriff himself will have to live with the fact that they murdered an innocent young man and let the real killer get away. You willin’ to open up the kind of sore still so fresh that it’s weepin’?’
‘Isn’t that the right thing to do?’
‘I’d say that depends entirely on whether you’re you, me, or Dexter Muller on one side, or any of those law-enforcement officers and their families on the other.’
‘Then you’d be incorrect,’ Sydney said bluntly. ‘Because doing the right thing can never be wrong.’
‘That’s a sweet philosophy,’ Doman said through a barely concealed snort of laughter. ‘Tell me, you ever seen it work out differently?’
She had. On several occasions. But Sydney had yet to convince herself that consequences altered the inherent premise of right and wrong. Perhaps that made her an idealist, or even called into question her judgement. The old cliché about letting sleeping dogs lie had never sat well with her. More importantly, it was an axiom her father had never believed in. And Sydney Merlot was nothing if not her father’s daughter.
Eight
After thanking Doman for his time and ending the call, Sydney realised she had set in motion a chain reaction. As a direct result of her communication with the Sacramento field office, Doman was bound to contact her superiors in San Diego. Further conversations with both Benton Lowe and the local police department were likely to follow. Anyone and everyone involved in shooting Kevin Muller would realise by the end of the day that Sydney was acting on behalf of Dexter Muller.
Her skin prickled in anticipation. She had not planned on taking matters so far with Doman, but had stood her ground and responded honestly. Time would tell whether that had been the wisest course to take. Sonora PD would be unimpressed, and she didn’t care to imagine what Benton was going to think of her.
Sydney decided to get a couple of things out of the way before the wheels already set in motion had the brakes applied to them. The school was a ten-minute drive further up the hill. On the short journey she passed by Moon Falls Old Town, a site of historical significance, with many of its original structures still standing, including the jailhouse, school, administrative buildings, some stores and a blacksmith. On the edge of town stood a small township of homes built around the turn of the twenty-first century, plus the high school which also attracted a smattering of children from Sonora, Columbia and Jamestown, in addition to native Fallsians as the people of Moon Falls had come to be known.
The main school building was relatively new, redeveloped long after Sydney’s time in local education. One of those designs favouring tall atriums and different coloured panels, providing eye-catching features if not an entirely practical use of space and money. Sydney nursed the truck around the crowded parking lot but could not find a space. As she circled round for a second time, hoping to find a slot she’d previously missed, a bear of a man wearing navy blue one-piece overalls waved at her to stop. He leaned in as she powered down the side window.
‘You got official business here, ma’am?’ he asked. Unshaven and unkempt, the man carried a musty smell she suspected wasn’t restricted to his clothing. His face was cracked, grey and pitted like a tombstone.
‘I do. I’m here to speak with a member of staff.’
‘You got an appointment?’
‘Yes,’ she lied, hitting him with her most reassuring smile.
The man winked and tipped his head to one side, pointing back the way she had come in. ‘Finish going round, only this time head over to the main entrance. You’ll see a bunch of cars outside up against the wall. Most of the spaces are reserved for senior faculty members and the Principal, but we got a couple set aside for visitors.’
Sydney thanked him for his help, located a space as described, then presented herself at a modern and pristine reception where she asked to speak with Rebecca Wade. Following a brief discussion between the receptionist and the Principal’s personal assistant, they made arrangements for another teacher to cover Mrs Wade’s class.
As she had counted on, Sydney’s FBI credentials had opened a door for her, even though she had not expressly stated an official purpose for her presence. Five minutes later, a senior student showed Sydney into a large and corporate-looking meeting room, all frosted glass and sparkling chrome. A few moments passed before Rebecca Wade joined her, the woman appearing more anxious and fragile than the high school teachers of Sydney’s memory.
Wade was tall – taller than Sydney at any rate – and her slender upright stature added a few inches more. A narrow face so pale and gaunt Sydney wondered if the woman was experiencing some ill-health, took on the taut concerns of a person expecting the worst that life has to offer them. Lank light-brown hair, the ends of which curled under slightly, rested on her shoulders. She wore a floral dress, whose largely red and white pattern looked at odds with the rest of her appearance.
The room was air-cooled, something for which Sy
dney was grateful. She explained her interest after reading the statement Wade had made to the Bee reporter, making it clear that she wanted to discuss it in greater detail.
‘If it helps put you at your ease,’ Sydney continued further, ‘I’m not here in an official capacity today. For the time being I’m living in Moon Falls, and I’m gathering background information at this stage.’
She was pleased with that ad hoc explanation. It sounded vague enough to be true.
‘I was surprised when we were not all spoken to by the investigators,’ Wade said, interlacing her fingers on the sparkling glass table top. Her demeanour was earnest, eyes distant as if reflecting upon that awful day.
Sydney prompted her to expand further.
‘Well, as far as I’m aware they interviewed only the most senior staff, plus of course the three wounded teachers.’
Sydney frowned. Had she been carrying out the investigation, she would, as Wade had implied, have spoken to all members of staff irrespective of their status. She was curious as to why that had not happened.
‘According to the view you expressed in the interview I read, you found it impossible to believe Kevin Muller was capable of doing those terrible things,’ she said. ‘Tell me, Mrs Wade, have you changed your mind about that in the intervening couple of months?’
‘Not at all. If anything, the passing of time has only cemented my opinion. I had the pleasure of teaching Kevin. I won’t say he did not represent a challenge at times. Kevin was a tall, well-built young man. He was strong, too. He could be playful and boisterous, and when he bumped against you or made physical contact of any kind, he never realised his own strength and you’d occasionally come off the worse for wear. But his actions were those of a child. It was how his brain was wired up. There was nothing malicious about him. More to the point, the thought of Kevin gathering those weapons together, dressing up like that, strolling around the school and shooting people, then retracing his steps and… well, ending things the way he did, doesn’t resonate with me, Agent Merlot.’
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