by Jill Sanders
When they pulled into the long driveway, there were police cars, ambulances, and even a fire truck, all with their lights flashing. It was almost like a damn disco as he rushed past all the vehicles towards the front porch.
He pushed through the half-closed front door.
“Chief?” he called out.
“Back here,” someone said.
He was rushing through the living room towards the basement door when he heard her voice.
“Sawyer.” It was a small sound he’d almost missed.
He stopped in the middle of the room and looked down. She was sitting on the sofa, softly crying into a tissue.
Not thinking clearly, he pulled her up into his arms and held onto her. “My god, when they said…” He broke off unable to finish the dark thoughts he had.
“It’s… I think… Sawyer, it’s Isaac.” She cried and buried her face into his shoulder.
“What?” Was she saying that her husband’s body was in her basement?
He glanced around and spotted his chief, who motioned that he wanted to talk to him privately.
“Sit.” He nudged her back onto the sofa and then knelt in front of her until her eyes met his. “Can you hold on just a little while? Then I’ll have more answers for you.” She nodded and wiped her eyes with a tissue. “Carson.” He turned to his partner who was standing by the end of the sofa. “Stay with her, will you?”
“Sure thing.” His partner sat down and pulled Rose into his arms.
Sawyer had forgotten that they knew each other so well. Then again, everyone in town knew everyone else.
He made his way to the top of the basement stairs and followed the chief downstairs. His tour the other day hadn’t extended to the basement, but he’d been down there once before when he’d helped her turn her power back on.
With the lights on now, he could see so much had changed in the past months.
Someone had cleaned out more than half of the old junk that had been down there. There was still a fancy wine room with a glass door near the base of the stairs, but the rest of the basement sat almost empty and there was a massive hole in the west wall.
“What happened?” he asked, walking towards the destruction. Rain streamed into the basement through the large sheets of plastic someone had set up outside to keep the area dry.
“It looks like the rain did a little foundation damage. Mrs. Clayton…”
“Rose,” he corrected.
Deter nodded. “She heard the noise and came down here to see what had happened. When she used the flashlight to check out the damage…” He moved his flashlight and Sawyer saw the body. The tarps were put in place to keep the rain off the body, not the damage.
Being stuck in cement had kept the decomposition to a minimum. He recognized Isaac Clayton almost immediately from the pictures he’d seen. The man’s head, left shoulder, and chest area, along with parts of the man’s hips and legs, were exposed, while other parts of him remained buried behind thick concrete.
“Looks to me like it’s Isaac Clayton. So, the question is… How did her husband end up in a four-foot cement wall in her basement instead of at the bottom of the Atlantic?”
“I’ll handle…” He turned to go but Deter stopped him.
“Actually, since your partner has informed me that you’ve been spending some time with”—he nodded to the body—“the wife, I’ll need you to step out of this one, at least until we rule her out as a suspect.”
“Out?” He glanced back at the body and saw what he hadn’t at first—a large piece of rebar sticking through the man’s chest. “Murder?” he said under his breath.
“Yeah,” Deter answered. “We’ll need to bring her in for questioning. I’ll need your word that you won’t say anything. I need you to step out of this, or I’ll set you out of it.” The warning was soft, but Sawyer got the man’s meaning.
“You have my word,” he promised only because there was no doubt in his mind that Rose had nothing to do with the horror still laying half buried in cement.
He followed Deter up the stairs. When he met Rose’s eyes, she must have read the truth in his, since she started crying again.
“It is him. How?” She shook her head.
“That’s the question we’re going to get to the bottom of. We’ll need you to come in for some questions.” Deter stepped forward. “You may want to get dressed.”
“What about…” She glanced towards the basement door.
“Don’t worry about a thing. The crew is going to take a few hours down there. They’ll do what they can to stop the rain from coming in to the basement, but you might want to schedule repairs as soon as the rain stops,” Deter answered.
Carson stood and pulled Rose up with him. “Officer Madsen here”—he pointed to the female officer—“will take you upstairs and help you change.”
Sawyer hated leaving Rose in the other officer’s care, but he knew he had to keep his distance, at least until the chief cleared Rose of any wrongdoing.
Rose glanced back at him as Madsen led her out of the room.
He tried to keep all emotion from his eyes as he watched her leave.
“So?” Carson turned to him.
“It’s Isaac Clayton.” Just saying it made his stomach roll.
“Thought he went down in the Atlantic,” Carson added.
“So did everyone else. We’ll need to make a few calls.”
Deter stepped in. “I want Sawyer as far from this as possible, Carson. You seem to know the woman pretty well. Is there going to be an issue?”
“No, sir. I only know her as well as I know most in town,” Carson answered.
“Good, you’ll make the call to New York City and find out who took off in that plane. We’ll need to talk to the construction crew who put in that damn wall.” Deter ran his hands through his thinning hair. He turned to Brown, who was leaning against the fireplace. “You’ll take lead on that. Get with them, find out when they poured the cement and why not a damn person saw a dead man with a piece of rebar sticking out of his chest. Then we’ll have to deal…” Just then the chief’s phone rang. He held up a finger as he answered it.
They all waited while he talked, listening to the one-sided conversation.
“Damn it. fine, I’ll deal with it. Yes, set it for…” He glanced at his watch and rolled his eyes. “Nine. Yes, that’s nine o’clock in the damn morning. Fine, sorry.” He took a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, see you then.”
He tucked his phone into his front pocket and rolled his shoulders. “Well, things just got worse. The press has gotten a whiff of this.” His eyes moved around the room. “Anonymous source called it in that Isaac Clayton’s murdered body was found in his wife’s basement.”
Sawyer’s entire body went rigid. Rose hadn’t even talked to the police yet and he knew that the press would spin it as if she was already being painted as a murderer.
“Looks like the father is flying in. He’s a hot-shot lawyer who’s donated a lot of money to this town.” The chief was running his hands through his hair again. “He’s demanded a meeting with me. I’ve put him off until tomorrow morning. So, let’s get going and see what information we can find out before then. I’d like to clear the wife as soon as possible.” He nodded towards the stairs as Rose and Officer Madsen were walking down.
Sawyer hated seeing how pale Rose was, how fragile she looked. It reminded him of the night he’d shown up and turned on her power. She’d been so frail, and he didn’t think she’d survive going through something like that again. But with everything that had already happened, he figured finding her husband’s body in her basement was going to be a lot worse for her than the man going down in a plane over the Atlantic.
Rose rode in the back of the chief’s patrol car to the station as he and Carson followed close behind them.
“I just can’t see her doing something like that. I mean, she’s a tiny thing and from the looks of it, Isaac Clayton wasn’t a small man.”
“No.�
� He sighed. “The question isn’t if Rose had anything to do with it. The question we should be asking is who murdered her husband and why did they try to hide it by flying Isaac’s plane into the Atlantic?”
Carson nodded. “Think you can keep your personal feelings for her away from the job?”
He glanced over at his partner. “I’m going to make a point of it. I don’t want anything getting in the way of clearing her name quickly.”
“Good,” his partner said as he parked at the station. “Looks like we have trouble. Local news, from the looks of it.”
“Damn.” Cameras flashed as Rose was led out of the back of the chief’s car and rushed inside.
“Yeah, you know what this means. Chief is going to be in an even sourer mood. He’ll have to make a public statement.”
Sawyer nodded. “We’d better get in there and get to work.”
Carson stopped him by placing a hand on his arm. “For what it’s worth, I think you two are great together. I don’t have an ounce of doubt that Rose didn’t have a thing to do with this. I saw her after… that night. You can’t fake that kind of love for someone.”
“No,” he agreed, “you can’t fake it.” He didn’t know why those words didn’t soothe him. But as he got to work clearing her name, they kept playing over and over in his mind.
Seven
Beyond doubt…
Rose couldn’t control the shaking. She sipped a cup of terrible coffee someone had handed her as she sat in the room she suspected was for questioning. She’d seen enough cop shows to know that they’d try to get something from her to either pin the murder on her or clear her name.
She hoped it was the latter. Chief Deter was a good man, or so she’d always thought. She didn’t really know him personally. All she knew about him was that he’d been chief for more than a decade, he had a wife and three kids, and he was an honest man.
Still, when he and another officer walked into the room, she felt sweat roll down her back.
“Mrs. Clayton, I’m Chief Deter, and this is detective Anthony Anderson.”
“Hello.” She nodded to the middle-aged man as he sat across from her. “Do I need a lawyer?” She looked between the two men.
“Not at this time. Unless you’d feel more comfortable with one present,” the detective answered. “At this point, we just need to establish a timeline. Basics. You know, when you saw your husband last, your whereabouts, those kinds of things.”
She nodded and set the coffee mug down, then took a deep breath. “Where do I start?”
“I’ll leave you in the detective’s capable hands,” the chief said before leaving the room.
“I’ll be recording this conversation,” Detective Anderson said.
“Yes, okay.” She nodded as he clicked the recorder on the table.
“Please, state your full name.”
“Rose Marie Clayton.”
“Your husband’s name?”
“Isaac Clayton.”
“The date of his death?”
The date should have been embedded in her memory, but for some reason, it didn’t come to her quickly.
“August eight, of last year,” she finally answered. The detective made a note in the file in front of him and gave her a look.
“How did you find out about his death?”
For the next hour, she answered basic questions. Where was she before the cement was poured? Who had poured it? Was she there when it was poured? When had her husband left? When was the last time she’d seen him?
These questions still ran through her own mind as she tried to determine how the love of her life had ended up inside the basement wall.
When the detective was finally done questioning her, she was exhausted. She’d downed four cups of the foul-tasting coffee and had, because of it, taken several bathroom breaks.
The entire time she’d sat in the stale room, she hadn’t seen Sawyer anywhere. When she went to the bathroom, a female officer accompanied her.
She’d lost track of time and was shocked to see light as she stepped outside, thinking it was already morning. But that was short-lived when it quickly became apparent that the lights were coming from the news crews that were set up on her front stoop. As questions were thrown at her, bright flashes went off from all the cameras that were turned in her direction.
The same female officer that had helped her change drove her back home almost six hours after she’d found Isaac’s body.
“Someone will be stationed outside your gate”—the officer nodded to a parked patrol car— “to make sure you stay put and for your own protection.”
“My own…” She shook her head, unable to fathom why she needed protecting. Too tired to think clearly, she sighed. “Thank you.” She got out of the car and slowly made her way up the stairs.
She pushed open the front door, but a full minute passed before she finally stepped inside her home.
A wave of the shakes hit her as she closed the door behind her.
What had they done with Isaac? Where was he now? She closed her eyes and rested her head against the door as tears streamed down her cheeks.
Why was it even harder now than it had been a year ago? Losing him in the ocean had been difficult, but knowing he’d been under her feet all along? This was somehow worse.
Sliding down the door, she tucked her head into her knees and cried harder.
Minutes later, somewhere in the house, her phone beeped, causing her to jolt out of the stupor she was in.
When she got up, her body felt like she’d just run a marathon. Her legs ached, her head was pounding, and her eyes were blurry as she tried to locate her phone.
Finally finding her phone on the kitchen counter, she checked her text messages. They were all from Sawyer, from late last night, shortly after she’d found… She closed her eyes and took a breath before reading his texts.
-Are you okay?
-Where are you?
-Oh, god, please answer
-Please, be okay, just be okay
Tucking the phone to her chest, she climbed the back stairs and, without removing her clothes, lay down on her bed and responded to him.
-I’m sorry I didn’t see these, I left my phone in the kitchen last night. I can’t believe it.
Instead of hitting send, she deleted it and just typed:
-I’m home now
She waited for a response, but when one didn’t come, she set her phone down as her eyes slid closed.
She woke with a start when her phone rang. Fumbling awake, she picked it up without looking at the screen.
“Is this Rose Clayton?” The woman’s voice sounded muffled.
“Yes,” she answered, sitting up and holding the phone closer to her ear. “This is Rose.”
“You killed him. I’ll make sure you pay if it’s the last thing I do.” When the line went dead, Rose glanced down at the phone. It was from an unregistered number. She was about to see if she could trace where it had come from when the phone rang again in her hand, causing her to jump.
This time, a local number displayed on the screen.
“Hello?” she answered, expecting another threat.
“Mrs. Clayton, this is Police Chief Deter.”
“Yes?” She relaxed slightly.
“I thought I should be the one to tell you, there’s going to be a press conference this morning at eleven. We’re going to give some basic information about your husband’s case. I just want you to know that, as of right now, we’ve moved your name down on the suspect list.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, closing her eyes and rubbing her temple as a headache started spreading there.
“It means you’re not our top suspect,” he answered.
“Can you tell me who is?”
“At this time, I can’t. We don’t want any interference with our investigation.”
“I understand.” She glanced around and realized that the sun was fully up. Looking over at her clock, she noticed that it wa
s ten minutes until eleven. “Should I… come down there?”
“No, it’s probably best if you keep a low profile. We’ve cleared the site, so you can get workers in there to fix the damage. If we need anything else, you’ll hear from us.”
“Thank you, Chief.”
The man made a small sound, then said his goodbyes and hung up.
She checked her phone for messages from Sawyer, but she hadn’t received anything. She plugged her phone into the charger, peeled off the slacks and sweater she’d pulled on quickly last night, and stepped into the hot shower.
Leaning her head against the cool tile, she played over everything that had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours—Sawyer pleasing her in her art studio, hearing the massive crash and going into the basement to see what had happened, the questions the detective had asked her.
She wanted to watch the press conference, so she kept her shower short.
She pulled on a pair of leggings and a long sweater, slipped on some socks, and turned on the television hanging in the corner of the bedroom.
Instantly, the chief’s face filled her screen. She sat on the edge of her bed and watched him make a statement about finding Isaac, where he’d been found, and when he’d disappeared. He mentioned that they had several suspects and that she was not their primary one. Then he went on to answer questions.
She was surprised that most of them had to do with her. Why weren’t the police looking at her? Where had she been when he’d disappeared? Where had the body been found exactly?
The chief answered all of the questions quickly and accurately.
Then the question about Isaac’s plane came up. The chief paused and said that some parts of the investigation couldn’t be discussed.
It hadn’t dawned on her about Isaac’s plane. Pulling out a notepad from her nightstand, she started writing down a list of questions she had for the chief.
Who had taken Isaac’s plane from the hangar in the small private airport just outside of Twisted Rock where Isaac had kept it? Clearly, if his body was in the wall, he’d never left Twisted Rock. What about New York City? Why hadn’t someone from his work told her that he hadn’t shown up for work those two days he was supposed to be there?