by Tim Waggoner
He got back in the cruiser, closed the door, and started the engine. It took some work to get the vehicle out of the ditch — a lot of rocking back and forth, a light touch on the gas — but eventually he succeeded and was back on the highway heading for Columbus at precisely 65 mph. He would finish the trip, he would stop at the state crime lab, but he wouldn’t go inside. He’d sit in his cruiser for the amount of time he’d estimate it would take him to hand over the evidence, then he’d start up the engine and begin the long drive back to Cross County. He’d pass the time by thinking of as many different ways to kill Marshall Cross as he could, the more agonizing and humiliating, the better.
Ronnie smiled as he continued driving on into darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was spitting rain by the time Joanne drove up to Sanctity’s main entrance. From the weather reports she’d seen, it was only going to get worse. Rain often hit harder north of Cross County before moving southward. Ronnie was probably already driving through a good-sized rainstorm on his way to Columbus. If she was lucky, Lenora’s questioning wouldn’t take too long, and she’d be on the way home before the heavy staff started coming down. She loved lying in bed with the lights off and listening to rain pattering on the roof. It relaxed her like nothing else, not even the attentions of the good Doctor Birch. She’d hate to miss even a minute of it.
Joanne had never been to Sanctity before. She’d driven past the gated driveway entrance hundreds of times, but there were so many trees on the Crosses’ property that even in wintertime when the foliage was gone, Sanctity itself remained barely visible. Joanne had served as sheriff of Cross County soon after she’d graduated from college with a degree in criminal justice six years ago. Not a long time, maybe, but long enough to settle into the role. She’d dealt with Crosses before, most often with Marshall, and she didn’t hold them in the same sort of awe that so many country residents did. As she herself had as a child. But now, driving up to the black wrought-iron gate in her cruiser, she was surprised by how nervous she felt. She experienced an impulse to speed past the driveway and keep going. But she slowed and pulled up to the gate. She thought maybe she’d see Dale’s Jeep parked alongside the road, her friend sitting inside and waiting for her. But Dale wasn’t there. Odd. It wasn’t like him to be late.
She rolled down her window and looked for an intercom of some sort to let them know she’d arrived, but she saw none. She didn’t see a security camera, either. What was she supposed to do — honk? But before she could do anything, the gate began to swing inward. Smoothly, silently. No ratcheting gears, no electronic hum. She thought of how gates like this always opened on their own in cheap horror movies, a not-so-subtle hint that malevolent forces were at work. It was a ridiculous thought. The Crosses had more than enough money to install a silent opener for their front gate. Nothing particularly malevolent about that, right?
She rolled her window up, and when the gate had opened all the way, she drove through. She didn’t look in her rearview mirror to watch the gate close behind her, though. The winding driveway inclined gently upward, and as she drove, her nervousness began to fade, replaced by a faint sense of disappointment. The driveway was paved with blacktop, the grounds, though neatly kept, looked like any other well-to-do homeowner’s yard. Trees lining the driveway, grounds covered with lush, healthy grass. It was all so … normal. The Crosses might be rich and well connected, but it seemed that they were only human after all.
Then she rounded a curve and got her first good look at Sanctity.
It’s a castle …
And if the term wasn’t entirely accurate in an architectural sense, it certainly fit. The huge stone edifice loomed before her like a chunk of darkness that had detached from the night and taken on solid form. Light glowed in the windows, but it did nothing to leaven the mansion’s dark façade. If anything, the contrast only served to make the structure seem more heavily cloaked in shadow. She felt suddenly small, a child again, and she had a better grasp of why Crosses acted as if they were a superior lifeform. Who wouldn’t feel like that after growing up here?
But her feelings insignificance vanished when she saw Dale’s Jeep parked before the front entrance. This was the main reason she’d asked Dale to join her tonight, one that she couldn’t tell Terry, no matter how much she cared for him. Dale made her feel safe.
She parked her cruiser behind Dale’s Jeep, cut the lights, and turned off the engine. Dale wasn’t in his vehicle, and she assumed he was already inside. She hadn’t told Marshall she’d asked Dale to come along, but it seemed his arrival had been anticipated or at least not surprising. She wondered if Marshall knew how Dale made her feel, and the thought that Marshall might be inside Sanctity right now, amused that her security blanket had arrived before her, pissed her off. As she walked up concrete steps between a pair of towering ionic columns, she decided to do her best to hold onto that anger, whether it was justified of not. It would serve as effective armor in the place she was about to enter.
As she started toward Sanctity’s front entrance — light raindrops sprinkling her uniform — she heard a noise coming from the direction of Dale’s Jeep. A soft sound, like padded animal feet moving across blacktop. The sound caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise, and she turned to look behind her. She glimpsed a flash of black disappearing into the darkness, then it was gone. She stood motionless, breath held, listening, gazing into the night, searching for any further sign of movement. But she saw and heard nothing else. She waited a few more seconds before facing forward and resuming her approach to Sanctity.
The front entrance was unlit, but as Joanne approached the large black door, a pair of lights on either side came on. Momentarily dazzled, which no doubt was the intended effect, she averted her gaze. She heard the knob turn, the door open. She turned back, expecting to see a butler wearing a glum, funereal expression standing there. But it was Marshall.
“Good evening, Joanne. I appreciate your being so understanding about coming out here.” His smile was reserved. Only appropriate given the circumstances of her visit, Joanne thought.
“Just doing my job.” A cliché, maybe, but it was all she could think to say, and it sounded appropriately hard-ass.
Marshall’s smile didn’t waver an iota, but a cold glint came into his eyes. “Of course. Then by all means, let’s get started.” He stepped back from the open doorway and gestured for her to enter. She almost expected him to say Welcome to my parlor in a menacing voice. But he simply stood there, waiting, that cold gleam still in his gaze.
Joanne stepped inside.
• • •
As Marshall led her through the halls of Sanctity, she was surprised by the sheer number of people present. Every room they passed contained groups of men and women of various ages, all well dressed, all carrying themselves with the patrician air that was a defining feature of Cross-hood. The people talked, drank, and more than a few waved at Marshall as he and Joanne walked past. None seemed to notice that he was accompanied by a woman in a sheriff’s uniform, let alone care. They had eyes only for Marshall, as if he were their ruler which, Joanne supposed, in a way he was. The Crown Prince of Crosses.
“Do you have any animals that you let run loose on the property?” she asked as they walked. “A dog, maybe?”
Marshall frowned. “Other than the songbirds in the Solarium and some koi in an artificial pond in the flower garden out back, we have no pets of any sort. Why do you ask?”
“I thought I saw something outside. It was probably a raccoon or something.”
“Perhaps.” But Marshall sounded doubtful, and he changed the subject. “My mother has asked me to proffer her apologies for not coming down to greet you. She’s getting on in years and rarely leaves her room. She hopes you’ll understand.”
“Of course.” Joanne hadn’t expected to meet the grande dame of the Cross clan tonight. From what she understood, Althea hadn’t been seen in public for years. In a way, she was relieved. The idea o
f meeting Marshall’s mother, the only person as rumor had it that he feared, was more than a bit intimidating.
Marshall continued leading her along corridors, and as they walked, Joanne realized she was surprised — and to be honest, a bit disappointed — by how normal Sanctity seemed. No, normal wasn’t the right word. The place was a mansion. But after growing up hearing stories about the Crosses and the terrible secrets concealed within their creepy castle of a home, she’d expected — consciously or not — something more. Something out of legend, almost. Sanctity might have been huge, but in the end it had turned out to be life-sized after all.
The atmosphere pervading Sanctity didn’t disappoint, however. The air seemed to crackle with repressed tension, a sense of power and violence that, while restrained, threatened to erupt any moment. Perhaps it was just her imagination, or her Feelings picking up on the ever-present potential for danger permeating Sanctity. Whichever the reason, Joanne didn’t like the sensation. It set her teeth on edge and made her feel like an animal irritated by an ultrasonic signal that humans couldn’t hear.
Lenora was waiting for them in the library, as was Dale. The first thing Joanne noticed about Marshall’s daughter was that she possessed the same ice-blue eyes as her father. She sat in a leather chair, legs crossed, arms hanging loose over the armrests, head tilted back, face impassive. She was tricked out in a too-tight, too-mini black mini-dress, and a pair of take-me-now pumps. She looked completely relaxed — or like someone trying very hard to seem that way. Dale sat on a couch opposite Lenora, a glass filled with clear liquid and ice cubes resting within easy reach on a nearby end table. Water, Joanne knew. Dale didn’t drink alcohol when he was working.
Marshall must have noted where her gaze had fallen, for he said, “Would you like something to drink, Joanne? Coffee, perhaps? I imagine you’ve had little sleep the last couple days.”
“No, thanks.” She glanced around the room, quickly taking in its décor. Mahogany shelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound books. Domed ceiling, with a mural depicting people in old-fashioned dress working a primitive printing press. No windows. Polished hardwood floors. Chair, couches, and reading table arranged throughout the room in various permutations. She noted that Marshall had chosen the only arrangement of furniture where Lenora could face her questioners with nothing between them. Calculated to create an impression of openness and honesty. After all, what could Lenora Cross have to hide?
Well, that was what Joanne was here to find out, wasn’t it?
She walked over to the couch and sat down next to Dale. She wanted to see what Marshall would do next. Would he remain standing to assert his authority as male head of the Cross clan? Or would he opt to take the other leather chair, the one set perpendicular to both the couch and Lenora’s chair?
Marshall continued standing for a moment longer, maybe still undecided as to the best strategy. But in the end, he took the second chair.
“We need to get one thing straight before we begin,” Joanne said. Though she was speaking to both Marshall and Lenora, she kept her gaze fastened on the girl. “Despite the fact I’m questioning you here rather than downtown, this is official sheriff’s department business. Do you understand?”
Marshall began to reply, but Joanne held up a hand to forestall him. He scowled but kept his mouth shut.
“I do,” Lenora said. A smile played around her lips as well, and Joanne wondered if she enjoyed seeing her father silenced. Probably, she decided. It wouldn’t be easy to have Marshall Cross as your father.
“In your own words, Ms. Cross, tell me what happened last night between you and Ray Porter.”
Lenora glanced at Dale before speaking. Despite her amusement at seeing her father quieted by Joanne, Lenora turned to him now. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod. Evidently satisfied, Lenora began to tell her story. It was simple and straightforward and in other circumstances, Joanne might’ve accepted it at face value. But these circumstances were anything but normal and this homicide investigation was hardly routine.
“You say there was no special reason why you decided to go to the Deveraux Farm,” Joanne said.
“That’s right. Like I told my father, that’s where people go to park around here, isn’t it?”
Up to this point, Dale had sat and listened without comment, not even taking notes. But now he spoke up. “Teenagers, maybe. But you’re a bit old for cheap thrills like that, aren’t you?” The question held an edge of mockery that was unlike Dale, but Joanne knew he was attempting to put Lenora off balance, to shake her up and — if she’d practiced her story — get her to deviate from the script and perhaps trick her into revealing more than she wished.
Lenora frowned, but she answered calmly enough. “I’m not that old. I never went there when I was a teen, though, and I guess I wanted to see what I missed out on. Turns out it wasn’t much.”
Joanne exchanged a quick glance with Dale, and an unspoken message passed between them. Lenora didn’t seem particularly upset that Ray Porter had been murdered a short time after they supposedly parted company.
“And when Ray put the moves on you,” Joanne said, “you tricked him out of the car, took his vehicle, and left him at the Farm.”
Lenora’s mouth pursed in irritation. “You make it sound as if I stole it. I just wanted to make sure Ray didn’t leave me stranded because he was pissed I didn’t put out.”
“So you decided to strand him first,” Joanne said. “And technically, you did steal his vehicle, though I’ll let the point slide. Did you see or hear anything suspicious during the drive to and from the farm? Or while you were there?”
“Nothing. We …” Lenora’s words trailed off. “Now that I think of it, there was one thing.”
Both Joanne and Dale sat up straighter, like a pair of hunting dogs that had just located a scent. Marshall also seemed to be paying extra-close attention.
“As I was driving away, I had the weirdest feeling like someone was watching — someone besides Ray, I mean. I didn’t think too much of it at the time. After all, it was the Deveraux Farm, right? That’s why people go there, to get a spooky thrill. I figured it was just my imagination, but now …” A note of fear crept into her voice. “Do you think the person who killed Ray was there spying on us?”
Though there was no solid evidence to suggest such a possibility, Joanne said, “Maybe,” more to see how Lenora would react than anything else.
The girl’s eyes widened. “If I’d been the one left there, the killer might’ve come after me.” From the half-shocked tone of her voice, the possibility hadn’t occurred to her before now.
Of course not, Joanne thought. Lenora was a Cross, and her family was the center of the universe, at least around these parts. How could anything bad even happen to someone like her?
Then again, maybe she was putting on an act. But if so, she was doing a damned fine job.
Joanne asked a few more questions, getting estimates on time and the like. Liars tended to give too-precise answers — I left there at 10:17 on the dot, Sheriff, I swear — but people with nothing to hide had a more vague sense of time. Lenora gave answers like “Around eleven,” and “I don’t know sometime after eleven-thirty, maybe? Eleven forty-five? I’m really not sure.”
Lenora’s imprecision actually added to her credibility. But then again, Marshall had likely coached her ahead of time on how to appear credible.
“One last question, Ms. Cross,” Joanne began. “Did you kill Ray Porter?”
“No.” She answered without hesitation, and without any sign that she was working hard to seem like the answer came easily to her.
Joanne waited a moment to give Lenora a chance to speak further. People with guilty consciences became quickly uncomfortable with silences and began talking just to fill them up, in their nervousness often contradicting something they said earlier. But Lenora just sat and looked at Joanne, waiting to see what would happen next.
Joanne turned to Dale to see if he had any
thing he wanted to ask, but he shook his head. Joanne nodded, then stood. As if it was a signal that this meeting was over, everyone else stood as well.
“Thanks for your cooperation,” Joanne said. She turned to Marshall. “Both of you. If I have any further questions, I’ll be in touch.”
“Um, I have a question,” Lenora said.
Marshall, for the first time since Joanne had known him, showed surprised on his face.
Ah, she thought. Looks like Lenora has decided to ad lib.
“Do you … do you think the killer might come after me? I mean, I was there last night. I didn’t see anything, but the killer doesn’t know that. Maybe he thinks I saw something.” She paused and her face paled, as if something awful had just occurred to her. “What if the killer was after me in the first place? What if he killed Ray because he couldn’t get to me?”
Joanne couldn’t provide real answers for Lenora’s concerns, so she decided to rely on that time-honored tool of law-enforcement officers everywhere — SOS: Standard Operational Bullshit.
“We have no reason to believe you were ever a target, Ms. Cross. Neither you nor Ray planned to go the Deveraux Farm, so no one could’ve known you’d be there. Right now it looks like Ray’s murder was a crime of opportunity. It’s doubtful the killer ever got a good look at you, and you were driving Ray’s Camaro, not your vehicle. There’s no evidence to suggest you’re in any danger.”
“But even if you were,” Dale added, “all you need to do is remain here. There’s no safer place in the county than within the walls of Sanctity.” Dale gave Marshall a sideways look. “Safe from outsiders, at least.”
Marshall didn’t rise to the bait. “It’s true, Lenora. Nothing on earth can harm you here.”