Besides, what good would it do?
She tiptoed down the stairs and grabbed a blanket out of the hall closet. She got cozy on the couch without bothering to turn on any lights. The panic remained and had her huddling in the darkness, alone in the living room and afraid—almost like a child.
She tried to close her eyes, to push away the fear. But despite her efforts she couldn’t help wondering just how long she had left to live.
Eighteen
Thursday morning
Traveling with the kid was tricky. He’d dummied up a birth certificate that looked genuine enough that it had gotten Brayden a phony passport. It had even passed the scrutiny of the airlines. No small feat.
He didn’t need to bring Brayden out in public wearing the bomb collar. That would be incredibly stupid on his part. Not when the teenager responded so well to intimidation and fear tactics.
He seemed convinced that if the guy could ever become a decent lookout, he’d need to teach the kid how to drive. And so he set out to do just that, spending several months letting him behind the wheel. It had been a major accomplishment when the teenager could hit the gas without veering off the road. Even though Brayden didn’t have a formal driver’s license he was sure that in a pinch the boy could get them out of a jam if necessary.
His student would never get good marks in the weapons department. The youth was as clumsy around firearms as an old nervous grandma. And the kid couldn’t think on his feet to save his life.
He wasn’t even sure why he kept him around other than Brayden made such a good whipping boy. He just couldn’t bring himself to kill him, at least not yet.
Maybe he used him for someone to talk to, although he’d never needed that kind of thing in the past. Companionship wasn’t something he sought, since he usually preferred his own company to others. He’d lived the life of a loner and preferred bettering his mind with a list of classic books that included a variety of fiction, some from Nobel-Prize-winning authors who knew how to write about upheaval and changing social mores. He liked nonfiction best, preferring work that featured in-depth drill-downs into the minds of serial killers, their callousness, their cunning, their skill.
A few of the books he’d given the kid to read. It was the only way the boy was ever going to learn. Well that, and on-the-job training.
Right now, with the exception of learning to drive, he’d have to give the kid a D minus in everything else. But who could tell what the future held. Maybe there was hope for Brayden, hope that this time, the teen would rise to the challenge. And if the boy never made the cut, he’d have no qualms about getting rid of him.
After all, he could always get another apprentice.
Nineteen
Thursday morning
Bainbridge Island
Sierra woke with the sniffles and a slight fever. Skye decided at the last minute that Josh should make the trip onto the mainland without her.
“You don’t really need me there anyway,” Skye reiterated. “I don’t think it’s fair to drop her off with Lena when she isn’t feeling well.”
Josh recognized an anxious mother and kissed her forehead. “Mama knows best. I’ll miss having you with me but Harry and I can handle it.”
She patted his chest. “I know you’re making fun of me if only slightly, but I’ll let it go this time because…”
“You’ve been on edge lately. This case has you so bummed you’re visibly skittish. I think you’ve even lost weight.”
She huffed out a breath making her bangs flutter. “In under a week? That’s impossible. I don’t know what it is exactly but I just have this…eerie feeling inside me that I can’t seem to shake off.”
“You need to relax. The guy we’re looking for doesn’t even know we’re hunting him. So there’s no danger from that.”
“Yet.”
“Yeah. Just take a nap or something and try to keep the stress down to a minimum. This is a tranquil setting compared to Seattle so take the day for yourself and spend it doing what you want to do. Promise me you won’t go near those police files.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, ran a finger down his jawline. “That’s why I love you. I promise I won’t touch them. But I am going to move them out of the dining room into the office.”
“I’ll do that before I leave. If you even go near that mess in there you’ll be staring at those photographs for hours. Take a day off. Clear your head.”
“Okay, but don’t have too much fun without me.”
He scooped her up into a hug and kiss. “Never.”
But on the drive to the ferry, Josh couldn’t help feeling like something was off with his wife. Up to now, he’d chalked it up to jitters over the Cross-country Killer. But it wasn’t like her to be this distressed over a case, any case. He’d been hesitant to make it about anything else—until this morning. Although the nagging gut instinct told him he needed to worry about her, he’d ignored that dynamic, too. But maybe he should take note that her demeanor had shifted in a relatively short amount of time, and do something about it. Even if he had to confront her about the reason, he had to take action. No more looking the other way.
The complicated boarding process to catch the eight-forty-five ferry took some patience. Josh followed the flow of traffic into a lane like everyone else and waited for the attendant to give the go-ahead to drive onto the Tacoma, a jumbo class vessel with the capacity to carry two hundred cars in one trip.
What had seemed like a simple solution two years earlier for commuting back and forth when they decided to live on an island, was in truth, a reality check. Even though the ferry could get you across Puget Sound in thirty-five minutes as promised, the commute entailed a lot more. As he’d learned the hard way, waiting to board was the variable. Depending on how many people wanted to make the trip during peak hours and tourist season, the whole process could take a helluva lot longer.
These days, it always seemed he was running late.
That’s why as soon as he got the go ahead to drive out of the belly of the boat, he gunned the engine out of the Alaskan Way Viaduct and headed toward the forensics crime lab.
“It’s different having a kid in the mix, isn’t it?” Harry noted to Josh as they met up outside a building that looked more like a warehouse than a police laboratory. “Skye sent me a text saying Sierra wasn’t feeling well.”
“Different and amazing all rolled into a bundle,” Josh returned. “I’ve never felt such responsibility in my entire life as I do as a father. Why didn’t you and Elizabeth ever have kids?”
“We talked about it. But at the time she loved her job as a teacher. She did more good there. At least that’s what we told ourselves when kids just never happened for us. We thought about adoption a time or two, but we were both busy and just never seemed to get around to signing the paperwork. I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
Harry pressed a buzzer at the door and a detective named Paul Bennington let them inside. The only giveaway that it wasn’t a routine maintenance hut was that techs were dressed in white jumpsuits and wore hairnets and gloves.
They spotted the Maldonado Chevy, a silver 2011 Malibu, and the state of frenzied activity around it. One tech carried a camera while another used a polilight, a portable light source that picked up bodily fluids. Another sprayed Luminol into the interior.
“They’ve already vacuumed the car and picked up a bunch of fibers, some long black hair, and some trace evidence,” Bennington explained. “But it’s the family car so there’s nothing unusual about what we’ve found so far. It’s all pretty much lining up with what we’d expect to find from a vehicle used by a family of six.”
“No blood?” Josh asked.
“Nothing significant so far.”
Josh ran a hand through his hair. “That’s probably because he didn’t shoot Christy in the car but walked her along the river bank near where the body was found.”
“What gets me is why so far into the woods? He could’ve killed her
at any spot along their four-mile hike,” Harry added.
Suddenly it hit Josh. “He wanted to get as close as he could to the campers.”
“That’s nuts,” Bennington said. “Why would he risk getting caught?”
“Because the whole thing is getting a little too much of a routine for him. He’s been doing the same thing for five years now. He’s desperately trying to shake things up. He’s beginning to crave attention like an addict needs crack. You know what that means?”
“Yeah. He’s willing to risk everything to become famous.”
***
Even when Sierra went down for her nap, Skye couldn’t shake her unease. She knew it was a lot more than Sierra’s cold at play. This case had her feeling…different for some reason. Doubt seemed to creep in at the oddest times. She hadn’t felt this overwhelming lack of self-confidence since her parents had died. Her teenage years seemed to have reared up again in her head and haunted her even during her waking hours. She wouldn’t admit to Josh that she hadn’t slept soundly since before Harry had showed up on their doorstep, bringing the Maldonado case back to life. Since then, she’d had this nagging premonition that things were about to go downhill. Her perfect life was about to shatter in pieces.
Even Atka seemed antsy. The dog seemed to pick up on her agitated state and gave her pitiful looks that alternated between sadness and despair.
This had to stop, Skye reasoned. She had to get her mind off the rising fear that kept trying to build up in her throat and lodge in her belly.
She took the baby monitor, with its thousand-foot range, outside and decided to work in her garden. The weather was good enough to plant a few hardy herbs—she’d had good luck so far with the perennials like lavender, chives, and fennel.
It was time to start with her raised beds, deadheading the chicory left over from the winter, getting rid of the weeds around the lemon balm, and thinning out the scallions that hadn’t died from exposure.
With Atka at her side, she worked a good hour and a half before hearing Sierra’s baby babble over the two-way. Skye picked up the receiver and dashed inside feeling better about life in general. She’d spent a whole ninety minutes without thinking about murder. That had to count for something. She considered that a small victory.
Skye checked Sierra’s fever, relieved when she found it had gone down to normal. Since the fresh air had been such a boon to her mood, she decided they both needed to get outside for the afternoon.
“We’ll have a picnic,” she told Sierra. “Down by the water. We’ll eat in the sunshine and read books all afternoon. Or you can play in the sand, maybe gather up seashells in your bucket. And if we’re lucky, maybe watch the turtles crawl along the shore. How does that sound?”
Sierra clapped her hands.
The dog seemed to approve by wagging his tail and prancing in place, waiting patiently to go back outside.
In the kitchen, she fixed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cutting the crust off the bread, and then slicing it into triangles like her mother used to do.
Grabbing juice boxes out of the fridge, she dumped the drinks in the picnic basket she’d have to lug down to the water.
She bundled Sierra up in layers, probably too much, but decided better safe than sorry. The baby still had a runny nose and she didn’t feel like taking chances that the fever might come back.
Tugging a knit cap down over Sierra’s ears, she grabbed a blanket out of the mudroom before snapping her fingers at the dog. She let Atka out the door first and then motioned for the toddler to follow.
With her hands full of picnic basket, she trooped across the backyard behind a toddler and a dog. Making their way to the water proved a slow journey because along the way Sierra spotted a patch of dandelions. The baby squatted down over the flowers, determined to pick the ones that seemed to have sprouted four inches overnight.
Holding one of the blossoms up to her nose, she sniffed and handed it off to her mother. “F’ower.”
It warmed Skye’s heart. She never grew tired of seeing Sierra explore the world around her and hear her own child describe things in her own words, a vocabulary that seemed to grow every single day. “Pretty yellow flower.”
“More,” Sierra said as she toddled over to check out the fish pond.
“Fish!” Sierra hollered with glee, clapping her hands whenever the brightly colored orange fish darted about in the pool.
Overhead, gulls soared across the pale blue sky. “Look at the birds, Sierra. I bet they’re looking for a late lunch, trying to find food right in our very own inlet. See, see them dive for carp.” Skye’s jaw dropped open at the next sight. “Wow, look at that gull catch a fish in its mouth.”
A little stunned, she looked back at the fish pond, wondering if the goldfish there were safe from the predatory birds in the area. She’d noticed a couple missing before today. Now she knew where they’d gone.
Deciding it wouldn’t do to have Sierra witness a gull swoop down and grab one of the goldfish, she prompted, “Come on, let’s keep moving so we can eat lunch.”
The dog trotted next to Sierra as if guiding her to the right spot. They continued following the path until they reached the dunes where knee-high beach grass waved in the breeze.
Skye caught movement out of the corner of her eye and stopped. Atka set up a din of barking toward the tall reeds.
At first, Skye didn’t see anything. But then she caught sight of the reason why. Standing still as a statue, a Canadian goose had gone on full alert watching them approach, readying herself to attack.
In the next breath, Skye heard a hissing sound and saw the reason why the thing was so hostile, and yet protective. “A mother goose looking out for her babies.” The goslings looked barely a day old, but the brownish chicks got in line behind the mama goose.
“We’ll keep moving,” Skye promised the nervous hen and kept her word by pivoting to change direction.
They walked out of the tall grass and onto a smoother section of sandy beach where she could arrange the blanket on the ground. She plopped down and encouraged Sierra to take a seat beside her.
Leaning back on a rock, she took in the sights, the ragged hillside, and the spring blooms along the coast. She watched the waves come and go and breathed in the air, letting the panic she’d felt earlier subside.
“Just look at that view, daughter of mine.” At times like this, she really loved everything the island had to offer. Could she give it all up to move back across Puget Sound, back into Seattle’s urban sprawl? She suddenly wasn’t so sure she wanted to budge from this spot. Ever.
But Sierra was more interested in what was inside the basket.
“Hungry, are you? So am I.” Skye dug out the sandwiches and handed one of the triangular pieces off to Sierra, who immediately started stuffing her face.
“Glad to see you got your appetite back. That’s a good sign you’re feeling better. I bet you’re cutting another tooth and that’s where the fever came from.”
She shoved a straw down into the juice box and handed it off. “Yum. Nothing like grape juice with peanut butter and jelly.”
“Juice,” Sierra exclaimed before drawing the refreshing drink up through the straw.
“What are you guys doing out here?” Josh asked from behind them.
“Daddy!” Sierra exclaimed. She held up her gooey treat. “Bite?”
“Why, thank you. How generous is that, sharing your sandwich with me? You guys taking in some sun?”
“Just sitting out here trying to imagine what it was like when the Nez Perce first set eyes on Lewis and Clark. The village probably ran out and greeted those strangers with bread and fish and dried meat that surely kept them from starving to death. They gave them enough supplies to get all the way to the Pacific Ocean. Little did they know they’d have to fight off the White settlers who’d eventually take over their ancestral land, running their cattle herds through the place they used to farm. By this time, it was 1872, and long after Lewis and C
lark were dead. Homesteaders began pouring into the area to file land grants against what belonged to the Nez Perce and the Chinook. Because of course the federal government had deemed it public domain. Anyway, I remember a story my mom and dad told me about persistence. Whenever they wanted to drive home dogged determination, they’d always bring up how Chief Joseph stood up to the government to get that land back. It was remarkable really since the Nez Perce weren’t even considered U.S. citizens. They couldn’t vote in elections or bring a lawsuit against anyone. But that didn’t deter Chief Joseph from trying. The man was tireless. It didn’t happen overnight. But he kept after the federal officials and congressmen, traveling sometimes all night so that he could meet with them in person and try to persuade them to do the right thing. People in general thought he was crazy. But his efforts paid off. In June of 1873 President Grant signed an executive order that said the Nez Perce could go back to using the Wallowa Valley just like they had from birth.”
“But if I remember my history, it didn’t last.”
“No, it didn’t last. Oregon bureaucrats disputed the order and Grant gave in. In 1875 settlers began filing claims to live there again. This time the Army showed up to enforce Grant’s reversal. Instead of giving up though, Joseph continued his battle—peacefully. This time he’d learned to play the game. He used the bureaucratic red tape to convince the government that his people could coexist with the settlers.”
“A beautiful idea that was unfortunately unsuccessful,” Josh stated. “As I recall, peace came to an end when an Army general showed up and pushed the Nez Perce onto the reservation, a place they’d never wanted to be in the first place.”
“Yeah. They gave up because Joseph knew they couldn’t win. And that’s when a band of very pissed-off warriors went on a rampage and killed homesteaders along the Salmon River. Their families—women and children—suffered the backlash for it. The Army hunted them down and killed all but a few. Chief Joseph negotiated their surrender, mostly ragtag women and children and the elderly, many sick and starving. Even though his idea of peace was gone for good, Joseph became well-known for his surrender speech, ‘From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.’”
Truth in the Bones Page 19