Not that diverting Merlot would buy them a lot of time, irrespective of the outcome. Yet any delay, no matter how small, would only help Ebben find a way out of the mess that was his to fix.
Sydney Merlot. Dexter Muller. Both had become a thorn in his side. Merlot’s interest was entirely unexpected, reopening a door that Ebben had believed would forever remain closed. Adapting to changes in circumstances came with the territory in this fast-moving state of flux, but he’d been unprepared for this particular deviation from the plan. As an FBI agent she would be no pushover, and he was aware that he would have to control himself around her. Even so, that did not deter him from contemplating a final outcome.
Silencing the two leading players was a solution he had to consider. One way or another. He understood Jubb’s reluctance to make it a permanent solution. Having people found murdered or even making sure they disappeared would attract too much unhealthy attention. But at least Lowe appeared to be unconvinced, and he would not move forward on his own once Merlot was out of the game. It felt like a chess match, moving pieces across the board, staying several moves ahead of the opposition and anticipating theirs.
Muller was a potential exception. If he refused to back down in exchange for a healthier stock portfolio, forcefully persuading him to leave town, never to appear again, was not entirely out of the question. People would understand that, and many would be grateful for it. Few would question his quitting Moon Falls, given the circumstances. But the man was stubborn, so if the situation became unmanageable and Jubb agreed there was no other solution, removing both Merlot and Muller from the equation in a simple murder-suicide scenario was a decent option. If he spent enough time working through the kinks on that, Ebben believed the results would be convincing. Moreover, they might even prove to be enjoyable.
Buying Baxter’s silence was clearly the primary objective. If he refused, then applying a grip on pressure points was the next step. The man’s pension was an obvious area to focus on. Perhaps also his reputation. The threat of some ex-student speaking to journalists about their old teacher’s sexual proclivities and a penchant for letting his hands wander, carried some weight with it. In fact, if they played their cards right and reached out to the man immediately, there were ways for Baxter to prove himself more useful than they had first imagined.
Ebben was not a fan of all these loose ends. The timing was all to shit. The mayor was taking the rational and practical approach for the time being, insisting there was room for negotiation ahead of a more violent outcome. As Jubb’s chief of staff, all Ebben wanted to do was his job, and it was tough having to bite down on his natural inclinations. There were easier ways to remove obstacles, and he’d explore them all to find the best solution. The idea that Merlot would willingly sidle off into the sunset leaving this puzzle unsolved, was an unconvincing one, so it was only right for him to consider alternatives. A checkmate move for anyone who stood in the way.
Nobody else mattered in his eyes. There was already an unease spreading throughout the local community. The citizens of Moon Falls were stirring, unwilling to become the centre of media attention again. It was too soon, their emotions still unchecked. Sydney Merlot was regarded by many as one of their own, but the town had changed a lot in the time she had been away. These days she was more of a visitor to the Falls than a daughter of it, especially with her father no longer around to ease her passage. Time and distance had a way of doing that. People left the area, and upon their return were surprised to find Moon Falls had moved on in their absence. It was as if they somehow expected the town to hold its breath waiting for them to come back.
His thoughts roiling like a raging sea, Ebben ordered another doughnut and a second coffee, this one in a to-go cup in case Merlot appeared back on the street. If it looked like she was set for the day up there then he would have to move on. His was a busy job, and none of this shit featured on his schedule.
His mind continued to scheme. Later on he’d find out more about Gerry and Sonia Kasper, for they intrigued him. Perhaps even pay the woman a visit and discover what she and Merlot had talked about. He’d get the truth out of her. He could be extremely persuasive when he had to be. If it went nowhere, then so be it, but it was an avenue in need of exploring.
Of the other players, Merlot bothered him most of all. With her law-enforcement background and current Bureau status, however she met her end – if it came to that – was likely to cause a bit of a rumpus. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of a wounded animal in the form of a grieving father snapping and taking Merlot down scant moments before offing himself. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, many would say. And that would be the official story. Merlot took a peek, discovered that, in fact, Kevin Muller had indeed murdered fourteen of his fellow students. This proved too much for the kid’s father, who blew her away before taking his own life. Questions would still be asked, but eventually Ebben would find all the right answers to fit that scenario. Manipulation was key, especially when it came to journalists.
More thought was required before this strategy became a viable prospect for action. A polish here, some refinement there, but as a work in progress it was an idea Ebben was growing more fond of with each passing moment. Timing was essential, because taking care of Baxter’s silence was the first step in a much longer journey. No more boat rockers. That was another crucial issue here. What Moon Falls needed more than ever before was a steady passage and a firm hand on the tiller in Chauncey Jubb.
So, sure, he would do things the mayor’s way. But he also had licence to operate out of those guidelines if necessary. It needed to happen in a manner that would attract the least reaction from law-enforcement, create the least amount of fallout for the town, but Ebben was convinced by his own prowess in such matters. If anyone had the tenacity and intelligence to pull it off, it was him.
He was a fixer.
He would fix.
Thirty-Six
Arms folded tight across her chest, Sydney stared down at the computer’s keyboard until the white letters, digits and miscellaneous characters became a blur through her tears. She still grieved for her father, missed Jordan more than she thought possible, and hated having to lie to him by omission. Many of the people in her home town would soon turn their backs on her, and she also feared how badly her bosses would react when she returned to the San Diego field office to resume work.
It was a lot to deal with. Overwhelming at times. Any of those issues individually would count as a stressor, but trying to cope with it all at the same time merely added to the weight of the burden currently pressing down upon her.
Sydney dabbed her eyes with a balled-up tissue and then wiped her nose with it. She hated showing this kind of weakness, even in a room empty of anyone other than herself. She wondered how many men would sit there and do the same thing when overcome with both frustration and emotion, and she didn’t like the answer that emerged as a response.
Mentally, she was as strong as any man. She genuinely believed that, and had proven it out in the field on numerous occasions when faced with life-or-death situations. She had fought tirelessly against the kind of discrimination few of the male officers or agents would experience unless as a result of the colour of their skin or their sexual preferences. Not a single element of the harsh training regimes she had endured since joining the FBI got the better of her. Yet still these damn emotions…
Sydney sniffed and tilted her head up, stiffened her back and brought her shoulders straight. Her father had always cajoled her to embrace the emotional side of life, and not to consider it a weakness.
‘It takes great courage, strength and fortitude to express yourself openly,’ he told her as they sat together on the rear deck taking in the view under a raging hot sun. Sydney was in her early twenties, and it was the day after experiencing her first shootout as a cop.
‘But I stood there trembling like jello, my lips quivering and tears streaming down my cheeks. No other cop wants to see
that, Daddy. And the public sure as hell don’t.’
That was Sydney’s immediate take on it, and she was adamant. So much so she was thinking of quitting. ‘How can I walk back into the squad room and face my fellow officers?’ she asked him at that point.
Her father paused with the neck of his beer tilted towards his lips. He set the bottle down and turned to face her. ‘First of all, we both know you’re not going to quit. That’s not the way my Syddles operates. Second, you think most of your fellow cops don’t have similar doubts and fears the day they get involved in their first gunfight? Macho bullshit demands the men suck it up, hitch their belts and move on, but macho bullshit aside, you can bet there’s going to be some kind of release the very next time they’re alone. As for other female officers, if they didn’t react the exact same way you did, it’s because they weren’t brave enough to express themselves properly. Because you better believe they were every bit as scared as you were.’
Sydney scoffed at the idea, but he was firm. ‘If they possess fair minds, then my bet is your fellow cops will regard you with a newfound respect. You showed them all your human side, Syd. And there’s nothing wrong with that.’
‘Not a damn thing,’ she said to herself, echoing the way her father had ended the conversation. It was a particularly favourite expression of his, especially when used to add punctuation to a firm statement. And, of course, he’d been proven right. If her colleagues treated her any differently, it was with a greater respect. After all, she had achieved the number one objective for any officer involved in a gunfight: going home safely afterwards.
Pushing herself away from the desk, Sydney stood and stretched her back muscles. Her mind was too crammed with thoughts to function properly. The moment she prioritised one thing, another came to the forefront and demanded her attention. It was like having a dozen kittens fooling about inside her head. She was finding it hard to compartmentalise, leaving her feeling woolly minded and overwrought. It was a sign she recognised, one that usually meant she needed to bounce things off somebody else. At home she had Jordan to talk to, at work it was her usual partner, and if neither of those were around, she had always been able to turn to her father. Remaining determined not to involve Hank at this stage, Sydney decided to get some fresh air and blow away the cobwebs.
The first settlers built central main street in Moon Falls on a hill that eventually meandered all the way up into the mountains. Over time, the stores, hotels and other buildings became a delightful mix of original structures made from timber – with balconied upper levels mostly still intact – and brick-built newer constructs, most of them either painted or rendered over. Nothing stood taller than two storeys, although The Falls Inn hotel had a huge dome in one corner that made it stand out more than the other properties around it.
The walk reminded Sydney of how many stores had closed down since her last exploration of the town’s bustling centre. Recently she had read in the San Diego Union Tribune about the death of local trade all across small town America, and the main street here had taken a real hit due to both the highway bypass and the two large malls on the eastern tip of Sonora just a ten minute drive away. Three decades ago you had to pass right through the foot of Main Street to get to Twain Harte, Pinecrest and beyond, and the pretty central street running up into the housing district often acted as a lure, causing people to pause on their journey. These days they continued to fly by on the 108 as if Moon Falls no longer existed.
As for the local inhabitants, it was easier for them to drive a few miles into one of the malls, find an easy parking space and do all their weekly shopping in a single location, rather than struggle with the hill only to find ways to spend more money buying the same things at higher prices. The days of a cheery face and a pleasant demeanour luring you into a charming old-fashioned store were on the wane, and the Falls was far from immune to the decline.
Dexter Muller called as she was looking into the hollow shell of what had once been a hardware store run by a sweet elderly Minnesotan man, whose sturdy wife had for years stood behind the counter taking in the money and handing out change, but never without a warm greeting as if you were the most important person in her life at that point. Sydney wondered where the Bergstroms had gone after closing down, and hoped they still lived in town somewhere and that at some point she would bump into them.
Muller told her he’d had no joy with Sonora police regarding his request to get back Kevin’s laptop and cell. They’d informed him that the items were still with their digital forensic team in Modesto, but that if he wanted his own analysis carried out when they were returned it would have to be in a specialist environment authorised by themselves. Also, they would arrange for the transfer to and receipt from, affording him no personal contact with either device.
Having hoped that Sonora PD would be less rigid when it came to procedure and protocol, Sydney was disappointed by the setback, but not hugely so. She doubted there was anything to gain from investigating the laptop or phone, other than providing some negatives in respect of Kevin’s lack of interest with or connection to handguns. She thanked Dexter for trying, and assured him she would be in touch soon to discuss progress.
Switching off from both investigations for a few minutes, Sydney entered a clothes store. Many of the items on display were a little over the top for her liking, but a couple of the more tasteful designs caught her eye. She was checking out a classy sweater when movement on the periphery of her vision made her look around.
‘I thought that was you, Sydney.’
The broad smile and high-pitched squeal belonged to Verna Pollock, a friend going all the way back to school days.
‘Vee, it’s so lovely to see you,’ Sydney said, happy to mean it. She gave her friend a hug and then stepped back. ‘I had no idea you still worked here.’
‘You too, Syd. You look absolutely stunning, by the way. And yeah, I’m still here. Part of the furniture these days.’ Her upbeat demeanour all but evaporated, and she tilted her head as sympathy glinted in her eyes. ‘Hey, look, I was so sorry to hear about your father.’
‘Thanks. Vee, I tried to reach you but couldn’t.’
‘I know. I’m so sorry about that. My parents were touring Europe and only got your message when they arrived home. I’ve changed numbers, which is why you couldn’t get a hold of me.’ Her smile returned as she thrust out her left hand, waggling the fingers. ‘I changed names, too.’
Sydney saw the rings and a flood of warm feelings gushed towards her friend. ‘You got married. Oh, Vee, I’m so happy for you. So who to? Do I know him?’
‘Uh-huh. You remember Donny Robinson?’
‘The same Donny Robinson you used to call a jerk? The one who was too much in love with himself and his motorcycle to even notice other people?’
Verna laughed. ‘That’s him. That’s my Donny.’
‘Well, that’s great. I’m thrilled for you, Vee. Seriously I am.’
Her friend’s smile faltered for a second time. ‘Oh, Syd, please don’t think I’m a complete bitch for not asking you to the wedding. The truth is, we didn’t ask anybody. We were in Vegas for a long weekend, we passed by the Little White Chapel on the way to our hotel, and we decided to go ahead and do it. Drove straight over to the courthouse to get our licence, got married the following day.’
Sydney would never have put Verna with Donovan Robinson as a couple, not in a million years, but Vee looked so deliriously happy. Delighted and thrilled on behalf of her friend, Sydney was also relieved to learn that she had not been specifically excluded from the ceremony.
‘So what are you still doing here in the Falls?’ Verna asked. Her eyes sparkled. ‘You moving back?’
‘No. I have things to do, still sorting out my father’s business matters and his estate.’
‘Sure, of course. It must be tough. I take it you’re still on your own?’
‘I am. Kind of. I’m seeing a guy back down in San Diego, but we’re still finding our feet. Which rem
inds me, he’s coming up at the weekend. I’d love for you to meet him.’
‘Of course. I’d love that as well. Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you two come over to ours for dinner?’
Verna gave Sydney her new numbers and they finalised arrangements for Saturday night. Seeing her friend made Sydney realise how many of them she still had in Moon Falls. Several, including her two best friends from school, had moved away for one reason or another. As she herself had done on two occasions. A couple had died, one in the services out in Afghanistan, the other to cancer. One more had been killed in a road accident on the interstate. Others she was less close to had probably shared similar fates to those she had considered the best of pals. Many had stayed in the Falls, and would raise their own children there. The question was, which of them would remain friends with her once they heard about what she was doing for Dexter Muller?
Times changed, Sydney reflected. Places change, people change with it. Fresh blood had fed the withering veins of the old town, new money coming in from the west coast and further south. As the town had expanded, not everybody welcomed the alterations that came with its development, while others had exploited it to the full. Loyalties were perhaps thinner on the ground than they had once been, and life had moved on a pace or two since Sydney last called Moon Falls home.
‘So how long are you up here for?’ Verna asked, still flush with excitement.
‘I’m not sure. Another two or three weeks at least.’
‘Then we must arrange a night out. I can call up a few of the other girls. I know they’d love to see you.’
I wonder, Sydney thought. She nodded anyway. ‘That sounds great. Let’s hash it out on Saturday night.’
‘Have you seen Benton since you got back.’
‘Sure. We had pie.’
‘Aw, I’m glad you still get on so well with each other. I always thought you two would be together forever and a day.’
Fifteen Coffins Page 25