‘You sure about that, Syd? It’s no bother. In fact, I can’t tell you how awful I still feel having come back here without you in the first place.’
Sydney warned him not to go there, that they had agreed it was for the best. She reminded him that his returning home to San Diego had been her suggestion. She heard the sincerity in Jordan’s voice when he questioned whether he had caved too easily. He wasn’t telling her what he thought he had to say, he was genuinely sorry about not being with her. Her guilt could only increase at having to turn him away, but that was exactly what she did.
‘Listen to me, Jordan Potter. There was no caving. There was agreement. Not the same thing, buddy. Not even in the same ball park. So, do not spend the next week beating yourself up. I have a lot to do and it’s way easier and quicker if I get it done by myself, and when I’ve cleared the decks, you can come and make me feel better. How does that sound?’
He chuckled. ‘The last part sounded great.’
‘Well, then you think about all the ways you can do that, hon. And then we’ll both have something to look forward to.’
Weary, and with the tidal waves of anger at how she had been treated earlier still beating against the walls of her chest, Sydney’s only desire when she ended the call was to turn in for the night. Her cheeks burned when she thought about how those cops would amuse themselves by spreading the word regarding her traffic stop. Some of them were probably getting a kick out of her being violated – if Peavey was brave enough to admit to what he had done.
Well, screw him and screw them, Sydney thought. They had enjoyed their moment. Hers was yet to come. Let’s see who was laughing by the time she was done with them.
Fetching a glass of water from the refrigerator’s dispenser, Sydney wandered barefoot across the flagstone floor to peer out beyond the decking. Few lights were visible against the impermeable darkness of the mountains, though further down the valley they glittered like stars fallen to earth. When her thoughts turned to Benton Lowe, an overwhelming sense of disappointment crept over her. It was impossible to shake off. It was sad to lose a friend in such a way, and she considered it an unnecessary and untimely loss.
Because she needed a friend to talk to more than anything else in the world apart from having her father back in her life.
Fifteen
The Chevy Tahoe meandered through the back streets of Jamestown and Sonora, seemingly at random, without either resolve or guile. Its very lack of direction and purpose asked its own questions: was the driver attempting to avoid detection, or were they on the prowl and working their own hunting grid?
After thirty minutes of this, the big SUV growled on up the hill towards Moon Falls, where it repeated the pattern along dark, quiet streets in the centre of town, before moving deeper into the mountains and along the eastern edge. Finally, the vehicle pulled to a stop at the side of the road two hundred yards down from Sidney Merlot’s bungalow.
From the driver’s seat, Benton Lowe studied the property. Lights still blazed in the windows, but he saw no movement through them, nor the ethereal flicker of a TV screen in the background. He switched off the Chevy’s engine and sat in silence, absently scratching at the growth of beard stubble he had acquired during a long shift. As the minutes ticked by, he became absorbed by the darkness. Benton breathed through his nose, no less enraged than he had been when he was told about Sonora PD conspiring so cruelly against Sydney to both hassle and humiliate her.
The jungle drums, grapevines and rumour mills had been working overtime, and news of Sydney’s stop and search had eventually wormed its way across to the sheriff’s office. The moment he heard about it, Benton’s first thought was to call her. His second reminded him that the two of them were estranged, but that did not prevent him from leaping up out of his chair and heading out into the night.
Benton sat with one arm on the sill of his open window, cool mountain air lightly brushing against his senses. There had been purpose to his earlier street cruising after all. His search for police officer Peavey, intent upon offering the guy more than a piece of his mind, had proved futile. The harassment alone was more than enough to stomach, but if reports of Peavey’s sexual abuse of Sydney were true, then the officer had a beating due. Benton was up for being the man to dole it out, sheriff or not.
His teeth were beginning to ache, so he let up on the clamped jaw. Started to breathe through his mouth. Sucking up all that anger, storing it away for when it would count for something. Like the next time Bobby Peavey crossed his path.
No matter what Sydney had decided to do that could be construed as a slight against local law-enforcement, her treatment at their hands had been deplorable and undeserved. Her father’s reputation and standing within the community alone ought to have ensured a greater measure of respect towards the man’s daughter. A woman known to and liked by many Fallsians in the same way her father had been. What’s more, an ex-cop and serving FBI agent. Benton cursed aloud, breaking the silence. What had Peavey been thinking? Or the man who sent him out there to do a job on Sydney in the first place. It was not only reckless, it demeaned everyone involved.
Not that you’re entirely blameless, he told himself.
Benton slapped a hand on the steering wheel, his anger turned inwards. In playing things by the book and coming to him first of all, Sydney had done precisely the right thing. His response had been to snub her, before behaving like a spoiled child when she later went behind his back to the Sacramento FBI field office. Since their last disagreement, he had attempted to compile his thoughts on why Sydney’s involvement pricked him to such a degree and burrowed its way beneath his skin. He was having a hard time deciphering whether personal displeasure or professional distress had spurred on his reaction.
Truth was, he was unable to ignore the fact that he found Sydney’s decision to investigate Kevin Muller’s involvement in the massacre, akin to an act of treachery and a declaration of war on her home town. Being a part of the Moon Falls community warranted a show of loyalty to its people, but in Sydney’s case she was also a member of the law-enforcement family. Two practical reasons not to take up Dexter Muller’s fight. Yet Benton also recognised how hurt he was to discover the apparent ease with which Sydney was able to turn her back on him and their friendship in favour of a man she had met only this past week.
Sometimes it was hard for him to admit how much he still loved Sydney. Not the same kind of love he reserved for his wife and children. Nothing like as intimate. Once upon a time, yes, he’d had strong feelings for her. When he fell, he fell deep as all Lowe men did. But all that was a long while ago, and his relationship with her had been that of a dear and beloved friend. Yet her act of betrayal was more than enough to inflict pain, to wedge a lump in his throat and inject a cold sickness inside his stomach.
At the same time, Benton recognised Sydney’s decision, her behaviour, as precisely that which made the woman so special to him. That she was capable of taking up the cause of a stranger because she believed so strongly in it, even at such vast personal cost in terms of her many connections to Moon Falls, said everything about the Sydney he had fallen for, and who continued to hold a welcome place in his heart.
Benton hung his head, deeply conflicted. He was also afraid. Having the entire sheriff’s department and Sonora PD exposed to the public glare, was not something he cared to dwell upon. Nor the resulting media scrutiny and inevitable litigation should Kevin Muller prove to be innocent. Though these were difficult situations to face up to, he believed he had the fortitude to prevail. Having contributed to the death of the boy, while at the same time potentially allowing the actual perpetrator to walk away without a stain on his character, the very idea of his culpability sent chills racing through his bloodstream. That such a scheming monster might still be out there, enjoying the same quiet moment in the darkness, appalled Benton and caused nausea to stir in his gut.
It wasn’t easy taking such a deep, long, hard look at himself. His initial reaction at
having put down the creature who murdered fourteen fellow students, was one of immense relief. No joy, that was for sure. He had not basked in the adrenaline-fuelled afterglow of killing another human being in the same way a number of his colleagues had, irrespective of what that young man had done. For days afterwards, he and his team painstakingly built their case against Kevin Muller as they would any other murderer, though the evidence against him was overwhelming, the suspect’s guilt certain. The shooting of the boy and his eventual unmasking in front of dozens of witnesses had seen to that.
Then one day, entirely out of the blue, the boy’s father had entered the office inside the Moon Falls library, exactly as Sydney had yesterday. Dexter Muller stood on the other side of the narrow desk, twisting his baseball cap between his fingers, and with quiet and soft-spoken dignity outlined a firm belief in his son’s innocence. It was that lack of animosity Benton remembered most acutely, the way the man calmly and without rancour laid out his own theory. He did not appear to hold the county sheriff in contempt for his role in ending a young life, nor did he attempt to allocate blame.
‘You made a mistake, Sheriff Lowe,’ Muller had said when he was through explaining. ‘An understandable one, given the circumstances, given everything you were told and saw with your own eyes. But a mistake for all that.’
On reflection, Benton realised he ought to have been less dismissive of the grieving father’s claims. Listening with an open mind was not only the professional way to respond, it was also the right thing to do on a human level. Yet feelings continued to run high in the area long after the shootings and the bodies of the fallen had been laid to rest. Perhaps he’d be forgiven by some for turning the man away as if his grief was not as excruciating as any other parent’s, but Benton was not in a forgiving mood. Not then, and not now.
He looked up with a startled jerk of the head as something about the view further up the hill altered. Was it movement he had noticed, a skulking figure catching his eye as it drew closer towards Sydney’s home? He would put nothing past Peavey, especially as the physical assault prior to Sydney leaving the police station would have left him feeling embarrassed and vengeful. Benton’s gaze intensified as he scoured the grounds and surrounding area, before he smiled in realisation; light no longer shone from the windows of the bungalow, that was all. There was still a faint glow from the deck’s nightlight, but he guessed Sydney had turned in at last.
He shook his head. He genuinely believed his friend – or was that ex-friend? – had taken on far more than she could possibly handle this time. Sydney was a hardened fighter, one who usually chose her battles well. What, he wondered, had she seen in this that justified putting her reputation, even her entire career and everything she had worked so hard to achieve, on the line?
After all, it was impossible for Kevin Muller to be innocent.
Wasn’t it?
Even Sydney herself had pointed out the many reasons why nobody ought to be taking that claim seriously. And yet she was. Because, as she had also rightly insisted, the idea put forward by the boy’s father was plausible. Unlikely, or even improbable, but by no means impossible. And it was that possibility which had drawn Sydney in. To her mind, it was something to explore rather than dismiss. Benton considered what his having done so would mean for his colleagues and the wider community if the theory were found to be more than merely plausible, but in fact correct.
It would tear the place apart, ignite a fire inside the belly of the beast that would never be extinguished.
Sydney Merlot was willing to take her chances with that. He didn’t stack up so well alongside that kind of bravery. But then, Sydney would soon be packing her bags and leaving Moon Falls, possibly for good this time. By moving on, she would avoid being tainted by any dirt stirred up in her wake, a contamination which for Benton was unavoidable. He would be the one who, for as long as he retained his job at least, was stuck with the grim task of clearing up the mess Sydney left behind. A town first ruined by a tragic event, and then destroyed by its fallout.
And for what?
Kevin Muller would still be dead, alongside fourteen of his fellow high school students.
Benton forced out a deep breath. The notion was unworthy of him. Because this was not about keeping a lid on things while the area simmered and came to terms with their ignominious part in the history of US school shootings. It was about getting to the truth of the matter, and in finding the real shooter if Kevin Muller was as innocent as his father claimed.
***
The man inside the Ford Fusion slouched down behind the steering wheel as the Tuolumne County sheriff’s cruiser drove by, found a spot in which to turn, and then eased back down the hill towards the centre of town. Half expecting the vehicle’s spotlight to pick him out, he held his breath as the SUV drifted past him for a second time. Only when its red tail lights disappeared around a bend did he sit upright again.
His instinct when first spotting the sheriff’s approach was to drive away, but he did not want to snag Benton Lowe’s attention. He thought the vehicle would drive on by, but instead it had pulled over and sat in the darkness. The man cursed, but played it cool. The Ford he sat in was the only vehicle parked up on the side of the road, and he hoped the anomaly would not cause Lowe to question its presence.
The man was prepared for that eventuality. He would tell the sheriff he was feeling tired and had pulled over in order to overcome his weariness. As the TV ads and road signs often suggested drivers do when feeling drowsy. But instead, the law officer had sat there, staring straight ahead at the house up on the right-hand side of the road.
Smiling to himself and blowing out a long sigh of relief after the sheriff’s vehicle disappeared from view, the man continued to sit and stare across the street. He and Sheriff Lowe had been watching the same house. But, he assumed, for entirely different reasons.
Sixteen
Friday announced itself as yet another in a long succession of bright and sunny days in Gold Country, Northern California. Upon waking, Sydney immediately noticed the heat had backed off a ways, and out beyond the Merlot property tall pines stirred and rustled in the breeze blowing in off the valley. As she stood admiring the view and drinking a second cup of coffee of the morning, Sydney reflected on the day ahead and her part in it.
Myriad issues toyed with her mind, leaving her with a vertical crease in the centre of her forehead. Sydney recalled shivering abruptly the previous night as she peered out of the same window, convinced she was being watched while taking in that last image of the vast black velvet sky. Though she made no obvious move at the time, her eyes scoured the back garden as far as the house lights extruded. She saw nothing untoward, and eventually dismissed the thought and went to bed. Yet standing in the same spot in the light of a new day, unease scratched against her once again.
Putting her disquiet down to the unnerving run-in with officer Peavey the previous evening, Sydney brushed all negative thoughts aside and instead focussed fully on the numerous tasks in hand.
She was having a hard time deciding in which order to tick off her list of notes. Uppermost in her mind when she awoke an hour earlier, was the tow truck driven by Sonia Kasper’s husband, Gerry. He was definitely someone worth following up on.
Meanwhile, there were other answers that needed to be resolved. Sydney decided Dexter Muller was the right man to provide those which related to his son, and she made him her first priority of the day. Ten minutes later, after calling first to announce her intentions, she drove out to the property in which the Muller family had resided for the better part of a hundred years. At the end of the first world war, Dexter’s antecedents had emigrated from a small town in Germany to the United States, settling in a mountainous area much like the one they had left behind. A dark wood cabin-style home, the house had clearly undergone a great deal of development and improvement since it was first built, but on seeing it for the first time, Sydney sensed the shell was mostly original. Dexter Muller had agreed to meet
with her at eight-thirty, and she was punctual as usual.
Muller had shaved since their first meeting. A small piece of tissue paper blotted a nick on the side of his neck. Other than the facial grooming, the man’s appearance was no less crumpled than before, despite having run a comb or brush through his hair. Sydney guessed he carried out basic ablutions, but with so much else on his mind paid scant attention to how he looked or came across to others.
He offered coffee, which Sydney accepted with a nod and a smile. This would be her third cup of the day, and although she drank far too much of the stuff, she was happy enough to take another. People were generally more comfortable talking to you if you were breaking bread with them or sharing a drink. She decided to drink only half, the caffeine kick already stirring her blood.
The decking encompassed the entire house, and the two sat out by the front door at a table shielded from the sun by an awning whose canvas snapped and juddered in the steady breeze. The Muller property was directly in line with the canyon, and according to Dexter it often had to withstand the full blast of whatever wind swept down through it.
A peaceful spot, Sydney thought, looking out at her surroundings. Idyllic in many ways, but a home no longer for Dexter Muller with his only family having been wrenched away from it in such an ugly manner. Her heart ached for him all the more now that she was here. She let it settle over her for a few minutes, and they were halfway done with their drinks before either spoke.
‘I’d like to know more about Kevin’s background, if that’s okay by you,’ Sydney said, pulling a lined A4 notepad from her shoulder bag and rummaging around deeper to find a pen. ‘In particular, the sort of life your son led. I’ll ask a couple of questions which may seem peculiar at first, but please bear with me. In addition to understanding what kind of boy your son was, I also want to discover things about him which might go a long way to shaking the convictions of one or two people in the sheriff’s department.’
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