Someone like Jeb Tanner, someone who isolates his kids, someone who teaches them how to use a knife before they know how to talk to another person . . . there had to be something that she could do to help them. Still, what Tanner was doing was not a felony, and she was a homicide detective, not a social worker.
Madison shifted on the bed and wrapped herself in the blankets. Did it matter who or what she was? For some reason Samuel had trusted her enough to speak with her.
For Madison it was enough—it was plenty.
It was barely after 7 a.m. when Kevin Brown walked into the Magpie. He settled on a stool at the counter and waited. The diner was glossy in the way that cafés can be first thing in the morning, before the day begins and customers spill drinks and drop food. At 7 a.m. the Magpie was polished and completely empty.
Joyce Cartwell appeared a moment later from the back room. She was slipping on her apron and stopped when she saw him.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“I’m not going to ask you what happened yesterday. Don’t worry.” Joyce turned on the coffee percolator and dipped a scooper into a large can. “The chief’s message on the news covered the basics. But I know you were there, and I was thinking of you. I just hoped you were okay.”
“I am.”
“Good.”
Her smile was still a lovely thing.
“I wanted to thank you,” Brown said, and he was glad that there was no one else there. How long it would be before other early birds came in for their eggs and bacon he didn’t know. He had things to say, and he should speak while he could.
“You didn’t have to do what you did,” he said. “It took courage, and we are—I am—very grateful.”
Joyce was wiping the already spotless counter because she needed to do something with herself.
“I’m not brave,” she said, “but I do have a really good memory, and I remember what it was like to live with him.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Joyce hesitated. The words were there, and so was the recollection of the event, but she had never told anyone. She spoke quickly before she changed her mind. “When I was seventeen, Jeb and I argued about a boy that I was seeing. We were in the barn. He really lost it and he threatened me. He was holding a knife . . . and he slipped.”
“He slipped?”
“That’s what he told our father when they took me to the emergency room. Jeb was on his way to college a few weeks after that. We never spoke about what happened, and we never lived under the same roof again.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Joyce shook her head. “Don’t be. Even our father was afraid of him. He loved him, but he was terrified of him. If that’s even possible.”
“I thought you were brave,” Brown said, and he was about to reach for her hand, “but you’re more than brave—”
Two customers blew in from the road, bringing a blast of cold air and chatter. They greeted Joyce and nodded to Brown, as if he sat on that same stool every morning.
Joyce poured him some coffee. “Oatmeal and toast?” she said.
What needed to be said had been said.
“Yes, thank you,” Brown replied.
He watched her as she took her customers’ orders.
“You look all lit up this morning,” one of them said to her.
“I have gifts for you,” Sorensen said to Madison.
They had just made it to the senior center, and Sorensen had been checking on her lab’s overnight progress.
“What kind of gifts?”
“The best kind. The kind that comes with bioinformatics graphics.”
“My favorite.”
“As you know, Joyce Cartwell came in yesterday and let me take a buccal swab.”
Madison nodded. It was a bold thing for Joyce to do, and Madison was more grateful to the woman than she could say.
“I see doubt in your eyes, Detective.”
“It’s not doubt, Amy, it’s just that Tanner isn’t a suspect anymore.”
“Which is why I said I brought you gifts . . . the buccal swab from Joyce was a familial match to the blood recovered at the car crime scene.”
“Jeb Tanner was at the scene where Dr. Dennen died?”
“No, not Jeb Tanner. It wasn’t a fifty percent result—which it would have been in a brother-sister match. We’re talking about a twenty-five percent match.”
Madison tried to make sense of what Sorensen was telling her.
The investigator continued. “It was the kind of match you would find between an aunt and a close relative, like a niece or a nephew. Or between grandparent and grandchild.”
“If Joyce is our starting point . . .”
“Then the person who was present at the crime scene was her niece or her nephew.”
It didn’t make sense.
“It’s really not what I expected,” Madison conceded.
“And since we had her sample, I thought I’d take a good look at the cloth the message had been scribbled on. For my efforts I found something, so close to the charcoal writing that it was nearly invisible to the naked eye.”
Sorensen enjoyed the moment.
“Amy?”
“Whoever was present at the car crime scene also handled the cloth and possibly wrote the message.”
It was a lot to handle on a single cup of coffee, and Madison felt that she was gaping at the investigator. “One of the Tanner kids was a witness when Dennen was murdered?”
“Looks like it—since it’s unlikely that Ben Taylor involved anybody else in his scheme. The blood could have come from trying to help the doctor in the burning car or from a nose bleed. I can’t tell you for sure.”
“And he or she handled the cloth the message was written on?”
“Yes, it doesn’t mean that they wrote it—you’re clear about that, right? But they definitely handled it.”
Madison had trouble believing that Tanner would let one of his kids wander around anywhere alone, especially at night and anywhere near the town; nevertheless, one of them had. One of them had been reaching out. Could it have been Samuel? No, Madison had specifically asked him and he had said no. Someone else, then—and Samuel didn’t know about it.
Madison reached for her notes on Tanner. Records had shown that, over the years, some in other states and some in Washington, he had registered nine children. Samuel had said there were twelve of them—three, probably the youngest, like the small blond boy, did not exist at all in the records. Three young lives did not exist at all—except in their father’s kingdom. In her bones Madison knew that they needed more than Children’s Services.
Samuel Tanner was on wolf duty. The day had dawned clear and cold, and the boy had left the cabin, grateful for the time alone that would allow him to put some order into his scattered thoughts. The snow crunched underfoot and the air had a bite to it. Every track—including his own steps—left a neat impression and he could read the life of the forest in each mark and in each dent.
The dread left by his conversation with Luke had stayed with him; somehow, it had infused every cell of his body. Something had happened to Caleb. Luke was big and strong: if he was that afraid, there must have been good reason for it.
Samuel couldn’t quite make sense of it, because Caleb had been with him every day since he had run away—in the black raven feather and in the cave and in every thought that had warmed his heart when he’d been sure that he would see him again. How could something have happened to him and Samuel not know?
The firs opened into a view of the valley below and Jackknife Pass above. Samuel squinted in the sudden light. For a moment, in the far distance, he had seen gray dappled shapes cantering behind the trees.
Chapter 50
They left on Thursday, once the snow on the airport runway had been cleared by the plows, and the paperwork of the investigation had been written up and signed by all involved. Sorensen had packed up her mobile lab and they had each stripped their bed in the M
iller guesthouse.
Polly Howell was in the hospital with her husband, who was expected to make a full recovery, but other volunteers had been ready to step in.
In the same hospital lay Lee Edwards, who was being monitored but was also expected to recover. She was too weak to be interviewed, and Chief Sangster would do the honors in a few days’ time.
Deputy Jay Kupitz had been discharged and had returned home to a hero’s welcome.
Hockley had driven him. Just that morning he had dreamt about seeing the house collapse on his friend and pulling him out of the smoking rubble.
George Goyer flew the red Cessna into a perfect sky, and even Brown had little to say about the flight.
Sorensen slept through it.
But Madison, as the plane soared and circled, kept her eyes on Jackknife.
Five weeks later
Chapter 51
March had been warm, and the snow that had piled up in high drifts in the yard was gone. It had left mud that seemed to dry quickly in the sun but was keen to return to soggy dampness late in the day.
Jeb Tanner had been uneasy for weeks, since the visit from Sangster and the detectives. The fact that nothing had happened could only mean that the chief had tucked his tail between his legs and gone to bother somebody else. It was a satisfying victory; however, Tanner’s moods had been fickle and his temper unpredictable. The children—whatever their age—had been as wary as if a snake were living in the house among them.
Tanner walked out into the yard with his morning coffee. He heard the approaching engine sound from the dirt path and for a moment he thought it would be Clay coming with the gas tank he needed.
Alice Madison rode with Chief Sangster in his cruiser. She had been quiet since they left town, and her thumb had been rubbing the coarse navy texture of her ballistic vest. She didn’t think that she would be needing it, as the county SWAT team had had Tanner in their sights since he stepped out of the house. But Tanner was not alone: in her experience it was the first time that Madison had to both protect and be protected from the same individuals.
Everything had been planned for days and there had been little chat in the car. Hockley and Brown were in the back while Kupitz, on crutches and under protest, had remained at the station.
Suddenly they were there, and the cars crowded the yard.
The brief had been simple: be safe but be careful. The Tanner children had never interacted with anyone, aside from a very small group of Tanner’s friends. It was crucial that their first impression of the wider world should not be an officer pointing a firearm at their older brother or sister.
Tanner had stiffened where he was. The cars had covered the distance between the buildings and the forest too quickly for him to do anything else, and he had decided to wait. His face told them that he was as ready to chase them away as he had been the previous time.
Madison was glad to see that he was not holding a child. Her eyes searched the yard and the outbuildings for a glimpse of Samuel, but she didn’t see him.
“It’s your party,” Sangster said when the cruiser came to a stop.
Jeb Tanner looked them all up and down: the detectives with the chief, the county deputies, the state troopers.
Madison stepped forward. “Mr. Tanner, you’re under arrest,” she said, and her voice was cool and measured.
“What for?” Tanner took a sip of coffee. He might have looked tough to his kids; nonetheless, there was anxiety in his meanness and it didn’t escape anyone’s notice that he was unarmed. Hockley and two other deputies moved to the man’s side.
“You blackmailed an attorney in California to file for divorce on behalf of your wife, Naomi Tanner, when in fact he had never met her and her signature was forged on every document.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Naomi ran out on us.”
Tanner was effectively in custody and he was being interviewed. Madison read him his rights and continued.
“Reuben Martin was easy to blackmail, because you knew him and you knew his weaknesses from twenty years ago. He did what he was told.”
“You can’t prove it.”
“He recorded you, Mr. Tanner. I met him and he’s a vile piece of work, but he’s not stupid. He knew that helping you would come back to bite him in the ass.”
Tanner bristled.
“Where’s your wife?” Madison said.
“She left.”
“No,” Madison replied. “She didn’t. The lawyer’s girlfriend called your sister Joyce from California, pretending to be Naomi, so that people would believe she had left. Joyce had met her only once and she couldn’t tell the difference.”
Madison was aware that a group of youths had spilled out onto the porch. She wanted to keep things as calm as possible. She glanced at them: boys and girls, the young men a little older than the girls. Some looked worried, some looked afraid—whether for themselves or for their father, Madison couldn’t say. None of them was armed—thank God—but Samuel was not among them.
“Where’s Samuel?” she said.
Something hideous washed over Tanner’s face. “He ran away too,” he said. “Two weeks ago.”
A coil of ice tightened itself around Madison.
“Where’s Samuel?” she repeated. She counted ten young people in total. Two were missing. “Who else is missing?”
Jeb Tanner smiled. “I want a lawyer,” he said.
Madison kept herself in check. “Mr. Tanner, you help us now—before you lawyer up—and it will be taken into consideration in court. Where is Samuel? Where is your wife?”
Tanner, with his hands already in cuffs, twisted and hollered: “You’re in charge, Luke. Anybody speaks to these trespassers, and when I get back there will be hell to pay. You understand me, boy?”
You understand me, boy?
A tall youth in his twenties—Madison remembered him from the barn—looked as fearful as if the cuffs had been on his own wrists.
Madison leaned forward. “I understand you better than you can ever imagine, Tanner, and I’ll make it my life’s mission to make sure your children are free of you. We have warrants to search your home and your land, and I’ve cleared my calendar for the next month.”
Tanner smiled. “I’ll be back home by sunset, bitch, and if I find you here—”
“You’ll find me right here. And if you’re back—which I doubt—we’ll have us a frank and honest talk. Looking forward to it.”
Hockley guided Jeb Tanner into a cruiser with the kind of manners his mother had taught him. Madison had driven the point into every single person who was taking part in the raid: whatever happened, the kids had to see their father being treated with civility.
The social worker who had visited the farm weeks earlier waited until she was given the signal that Jeb Tanner was in the cruiser and then drove in from the forest. A family law attorney, for the minors residing at the farm, sat in the passenger seat. The cars crossed on the dirt road and neither turned to meet Jeb Tanner’s eyes.
Madison had learned their names over the five weeks that she’d been away. When she introduced herself, she already knew who they all were, except for Ruth, Sarah, and David—the younger ones.
“We’re not talking to you,” Luke said.
“I understand. I heard what your father said, and I don’t blame you. We’re here to look for your mother because we think that something bad happened to her, and I think that something happened to Samuel too. If you know anything, or have seen anything that might help us to find him, I hope that you’ll speak with me because I want to help.”
Brown and the chief were busy searching the property, but Madison stayed close to the kids.
One hour passed and no one spoke to her—even though the little ones eyed her with open curiosity.
I have waited too long. I have waited far too long.
Chapter 52
Samuel Tanner measured the streak of light that told him spring was coming. Since the cave had become his pe
rmanent home he had dragged inside short branches with soft needles for bedding and more kindling for smokeless fires.
One morning, two weeks earlier, when the hunter-and-prey game had finished with the customary gunshots, he had simply not gone back and had slept through the day curled up on the cave’s floor.
The woman, Alice, had not come back, and he had never felt more alone.
One of the handprints on the wall was Caleb’s, and Samuel would often find himself gazing at it. He roamed the forest and had explored the ruins of the mine. Once, he had snuck back to a spot where he could see the yard and had been glad to see Abigail playing with David. He had even seen Flare in the paddock. The mare’s head had turned and the boy had backed away.
He was a ghost now.
Sometimes the boy went hungry, but not too often: he could trap his food and had even found candy that must have been dropped by summer hikers, the wrapping still intact though a little muddy.
Samuel believed that he was safer in the cave than at the farm, and from there he’d watch over the others, as Cal had watched over him.
A sudden rustle came from the entrance and the boy flattened himself against the wall. His heart raced as he got up to face whoever had found him.
There was no place to go.
Alice Madison stepped inside the wider mouth of the cave and found herself in a stone room. In the half-light she saw a dirt floor and a curved wall. The boy stood in a patch of shadows.
“Samuel,” she said.
He gawked at her.
“Hello,” she said.
He could not speak.
“I’m sorry that it took so long,” she said.
He was grimy and as skinny as ever, but otherwise he seemed all right.
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