They crossed the bridge to the hilly side of town. Down below, LeAnne saw some ducks gliding along with the current. She checked the rearview mirror: the dog, no longer asleep, was sitting up and looking in the same direction—down at the river, for sure—and in her alert mode.
Harvey turned toward the backseat and quietly, like he didn’t want to disturb LeAnne, said. “Hey, big girl, what are you growling about?”
“She has a thing about ducks,” said LeAnne.
Harvey gazed at the river. “She can see them from here? I didn’t think dog vision was very good.”
“She can see ducks. She can probably smell them, too, and God knows what else. She’s living in a different world.” LeAnne realized the truth of that last thought as she spoke it.
“Maybe you are a dog person after all,” Harvey said.
“Definitely not,” LeAnne said.
She followed Harvey’s directions—across Main Street and into the nicest part of town she’d seen so far, but in no way fancy, instead similar to Coreen’s neighborhood only with bigger houses and lots, and more trees. LeAnne spent the time trying to organize everything Coreen and Harvey had told her into some sort of neat arrangement, got pretty much nowhere. “Coreen says Mia has nightmares.”
“First I’ve heard of that,” said Harvey.
“And that she’d got a good imagination.”
“For sure. I have the kids write a story every two weeks—no less than a page, no more than three—and hers are always the best.”
“What are they about?” LeAnne said.
“Ghosts, mostly.”
LeAnne stopped at a red light, thought about ghosts and Mia. After some time, Harvey said, “It’s green.” She drove through.
“How about the custody thing? I can’t remember what you told me.”
“The custody of Mia?” said Harvey. “I don’t think we discussed it. But interesting that you’d bring it up.”
“Why?” LeAnne said. But hadn’t the subject of custody come up already? Maybe with Coreen? She wasn’t sure. How could she organize what she couldn’t remember?
“First of all,” Harvey said, “Marci had full custody from the very beginning, meaning after their divorce.”
“Was that what Max wanted?”
“I don’t know. It never came up. Marci made sure of that. Plus Max had no visitation rights. Anything in that regard was at her discretion, and she allowed it hardly ever, and only with her present. None of that really mattered after Marci enlisted because she and Mia weren’t around. I doubt Max has seen Mia in two years, maybe more.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Which part?”
“The part about how Marci made sure of having her way.”
“For that, you’d have to know something about their marriage. I actually wasn’t aware of this myself until recently, but the fact is—”
“You’re talking about the abuse?”
“Coreen told you?”
“Yes.” LeAnne was sure of that. Abuse, and not just once but three times: she started getting angry.
“That’s how I found out, too,” Harvey said. “Marci managed to record the last incident on her phone—plus she took pictures of her face right after. Enough evidence to get Max in trouble with the law, but Marci couldn’t bear going public. Instead, she held it over him and took Mia out of his life for good.” He shook his head. “Marci—the one and only.”
They came to a small, boarded-up train station. Beyond it, where the tracks had run, there was now a paved bike path.
“I’m getting the impression you forgave her,” LeAnne said.
“For cheating on me?” said Harvey. “Oh, yes—years ago, in my heart. At the time, of course, I wasn’t so cool about it. There’s cheating in the abstract, which you can rationalize in all sorts of ways, and then there’s how it goes down in your own life. For example, you’ve got to confront the specific issue of who the new person is. Kind of reflects on you.” He pointed ahead. “Pull in there, beside the sheriff.”
LeAnne parked beside a patrol car, directly opposite one of the station’s boarded-up windows. A Missing Child poster was stapled to the plywood, the pigtailed girl now showing some resemblance to Marci, although the picture hadn’t changed. LeAnne opened the door, intent on asking Harvey exactly what about Max reflected on him. Or had she missed his meaning? Before she could get any further with that, the dog leaped over the seat and out her door.
“Stop!” LeAnne jumped out of the car and shouted, “Come back here right now, you son of a bitch!”
The dog neither stopped nor came back, instead taking off down the bike path and disappearing around a bend.
“ ‘Son of a bitch’ isn’t quite right,” Harvey said. He put his finger and thumb in his mouth, sucked in a deep breath. LeAnne held up her hand in the stop sign.
“But it worked the last time,” Harvey said.
“Just don’t.”
LeAnne grabbed the leash, and she and Harvey headed down the bike path. On one side lay backyards, some of them semirural, with chickens pecking around and a goat or two. The other side was a dense head-high tangle of thorny scrub and undergrowth, sloping down to a marsh; mist hung in the lowest hollows.
“Who has custody now?” LeAnne said.
“Coreen. The lawyer wrote all that up before Marci got posted overseas.”
“Isn’t she a little old for a commitment like that?” LeAnne said.
“What choice is there?” Harvey kicked a stone off the path and into the scrub. “I wish the trains were still running,” he said.
They rounded the bend where the dog had disappeared. Up ahead a tall, narrow pine rose on the scrubby side of the path, and under it stood three men with a dog sitting at their feet. Even at a distance LeAnne could see it wasn’t her dog, putting it that way—her dog—just for convenience. This dog—similar in size, but lighter-colored and with a normal tail—wore a K-9 vest and had a sitting posture that spoke of training, obedience, being good. The men—two of whom had Sheriff’s Department on the backs of their rain jackets—were all big, the biggest being the man in the unmarked jacket, who was really kind of enormous.
“Christ,” Harvey said.
“Something wrong?” said LeAnne.
Harvey didn’t answer. They walked up to the three men, each muddy from the knees down. One of them turned out to be the officer LeAnne had first seen coming out of Coreen’s house. LeAnne didn’t recognize the second officer, but hadn’t she already seen the real big, round-faced guy with the shock of jet-black hair hanging over his forehead? She thought at once of Wakil Razaq Salam, kind of crazy since he was dead and hadn’t looked at all like this man.
“Hey, Harvey,” said the first officer.
“Hi, Sheriff,” Harvey said. “What’s up?”
“Not totally sure,” the sheriff said, then turned to LeAnne and paused.
“This is LeAnne, a friend of Marci’s from the army,” Harvey said. “LeAnne, meet Sheriff Cosgrove and Deputy Lima.” Harvey turned to the big man, looked up at him with no expression on his face. “And this gentleman is Max Skelly.”
The big man’s gaze—all their gazes, excepting Harvey’s—were locked on her bad side. He said, “Pleasure,” and nodded toward LeAnne in a proper sort of way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Harvey wasn’t a big guy and didn’t look at all like the aggressive type, so LeAnne was surprised when he moved a little closer to Max and said, “What are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Heavy on the sarcasm, that last part, almost like a dare.
“Drove up to help with the search,” Max said, showing no sign of taking offense. “Mia is still my daughter, after all.”
“Technically,” Harvey said.
“I won’t argue,” Max said. “Arguing wastes time and in situations like this, time is critical, isn’t that true, Sheriff?”
“Guys,” said Sheriff Cosgrove. “Whatever this is, don’t drag me in. The reason I called you,
Harvey, is that you asked me to get in touch if anything came up.”
“And?” Harvey said.
Deputy Lima spoke up. “Champ here might of picked up a scent.”
“Mia’s scent?” Harvey said.
The deputy nodded and took a plastic baggie from an inner pocket. Inside was a gym sock with a small hole in the toe. “This was on the floor in Mia’s room. Champ gets a sniff or two every morning to keep her memory fresh. She alerted as soon as we started this sector today. Something’s got her goin’ down there.” The deputy pointed to the scrubby side and on down to the marsh.
“But whatever it is, we can’t find it,” the sheriff said.
“Is Champ reliable?” Harvey said.
“As they come,” Deputy Lima said.
“Then let’s try again,” Harvey said, moving into the undergrowth and getting his foot caught in a nest of brambles right away.
“Best to follow Champ,” the deputy said. “She always knows the easiest—”
Something was moving in the scrub, partway down the slope to the marsh.
“Mia?” Harvey called. “Mia?”
But whatever was down there was bigger than a kid. The sheriff and the deputy both put their hands on the butts of their sidearms. Then came more noise and a furious sort of crashing around like big things were getting ripped apart, and a moment or two after that her dog—the expression LeAnne had adopted just for convenience—burst through the densest and spiniest thicket in the underbrush, just a few feet from an almost bare section that would have been a lot easier. She seemed to be headed on up the path, even took a few running steps that way, before noticing Champ.
LeAnne knew little about what was going on in the minds of dogs, but it was clear that her dog took an instant dislike to Champ. Her dog snarled—something soft and black falling from her mouth—and charged Champ, teeth bared, spittle flying. Champ was the same size or maybe even bigger, but she immediately lay down and rolled over, exposing her throat. LeAnne’s dog stood over Champ in a nasty and bullying way. Champ made no move to defend herself. Her eyes rolled weirdly around in their sockets.
“What the hell?” said Deputy Lima, drawing his revolver.
“Whoa,” said LeAnne, her parade ground voice there when she needed it. The men all turned to her, the deputy lowering his weapon. She ignored them, moved toward the dog, clapping her hands once, good and hard, like thunder. “Come!”
The dog trotted right over and sat beside her, on the right, even nudging LeAnne’s leg with her head, like maybe she wanted some petting.
“I don’t get it,” Sheriff Cosgrove said. “This your dog?”
LeAnne nodded.
“Champ submitted?” the sheriff said. “Wow.”
The deputy didn’t seem happy about it. “An animal like that belongs on a leash at all goddamn times.”
LeAnne held it up. “She got away.” Was an apology expected? They’d come to the wrong woman.
“What’s her name?” the sheriff said.
LeAnne considered the question. “Goody,” she said at last. Goody: it didn’t fit and was perfect at the same time.
“Christ,” said the deputy.
LeAnne clipped the leash to Goody’s collar. Goody, still sitting, swept her strange tail back and forth over the wet pavement. Meanwhile, Harvey took a few steps up the path and picked up the soft, small object Goody had dropped and brought it back.
“What’s that?” the sheriff said.
“Black armband,” Harvey said.
“McCutcheon’s gives them out, don’t they?” said the sheriff.
“What’s McCutcheon’s?” LeAnne said.
“The funeral home,” said Harvey. “They hand these to the families of the deceased.”
Sheriff Cosgrove snapped on plastic gloves, took the armband from Harvey, and turned it inside out, exposing a printed label: McCutcheon Funeral Home, Bellville WA.
“So who got one?” the sheriff said. “Supposing for the moment that this isn’t from some other funeral.”
“I didn’t notice at the time,” Harvey said. He looked over at Max. Max was gazing at the armband, no expression on his face. The sheriff slipped the armband into an evidence bag, then got on his phone, moved away.
“Up, Champ, for Christ sake,” the deputy said. Champ wriggled around on her back, eyes on Goody. “Up!” Champ rose. LeAnne felt Goody stiffening and got hold of the leash with both hands. Champ took a few quick steps over to the deputy’s side—actually kind of behind him—and stood still, panting slightly.
The sheriff returned, pocketing his phone. “McCutcheon’s distributed three armbands at Marci’s funeral—one to Mrs. Cummings, one to her sister, and one to the girl.”
“Mrs. Cummings is at home,” Harvey said. “And her sister’s back in Boise. Meanwhile, I’m guessing you’ll want my fingerprints, Sheriff.”
“Why would that be?”
Harvey looked surprised. “For the forensics people—I just handled a piece of evidence.”
The sheriff had a bushy mustache, still wet from the rain. When he spoke it made wriggling movements that LeAnne found slightly nauseating. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Harvey,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Harvey said.
“Don’t want to jump to conclusions,” said Max.
Harvey glared at him, but the sheriff said, “Exactly right. No telling where this particular armband came from, like I said.” He turned to LeAnne. “You’re a friend of Marci’s? Did I get that right?”
“Yes.”
“You served with her overseas?”
“No.”
“Stateside?”
LeAnne nodded.
“Whereabouts in particular?” Sheriff Cosgrove said.
“Walter Reed.”
There was a silence, a silence in which her bad side once again served as a magnet for all their gazes, excepting Harvey’s.
“I’m getting confused,” the sheriff said.
“I don’t see why, Sheriff,” Harvey said. “She’s a friend of Marci’s from the army, and she came here to pay her respects.”
“But she wasn’t at the funeral,” Deputy Lima said.
“I’m right here,” LeAnne told him. “You can talk to me.”
“Okay,” the deputy said. “How come you weren’t at the funeral?”
“George?” said the sheriff. “I’ll handle this, if you don’t mind.” A blood vessel throbbed in the deputy’s neck. The sheriff turned to LeAnne.
“How come you weren’t at the funeral?” Exact same words that Deputy Lima had used, but Cosgrove had a more sympathetic way, and they ended up sounding different.
“I didn’t get here in time,” LeAnne said.
“Where’d you come from?”
“Herat Province.”
“Where the hell is that?” said the deputy.
“I believe LeAnne here is having a little fun with us,” Sheriff Cosgrove said.
“I’m not having fun,” LeAnne said. “I’m helping with the search.”
The sheriff nodded. “Appreciate that.” He glanced at Goody, sitting at LeAnne’s side and in mid-yawn at that moment. “And maybe, since you’re the helping kind, you can help me solve a little puzzle. Supposing, for the sake of argument, forensics—or maybe McCutcheon’s—determines that the armband here was the one the kid wore. How come of all the objects your dog might find down in the swamp, that’s what she brings back?”
LeAnne could barely follow that, still less come up with a scientific answer. But were they maligning Goody in some way? That was unacceptable. “Maybe she’s better at this kind of thing,” LeAnne said.
“Better?” said the sheriff. “I don’t get it.”
“Better than your dog,” she told him. Rubbing it in: she’d hardly ever done that in her life, maybe never. It felt pretty good!
“Goddamn it,” Lima said, moving toward her. LeAnne knew how to formulate plans quickly in situations like this. The plan she had now began with snatchin
g that .38 right out the deputy’s holster.
Cosgrove stepped in between them. “Let’s everybody calm down.”
“But did you hear what she just said?” Lima’s voice rose. “Champ’s the best in the whole state!”
“Not anymore,” LeAnne said. True for sure, but this time the rubbing it in part didn’t feel as good.
“Jesus Christ!” said the deputy. “You gonna let her get away with that?”
Cosgrove raised both hands. “Harvey? How about you take your friend out for coffee? Nothing more to do here till we nail down the facts on the armband. I’ll call you soon as we hear.”
“Fair enough,” Harvey said, putting his hand lightly on LeAnne’s back. She jerked away from his touch and started back down the path by herself. Not quite by herself: Goody was with her, on the blind side as always, dragging her leash, which LeAnne realized she had dropped, possibly step one in the gun-snatching plan.
“You did good,” she told the dog.
“She sure did,” said Harvey, trailing behind; she hadn’t realized he was there, within hearing range, and said no more the rest of the way to the car. The dog growled once or twice. “Maybe she hates compliments,” Harvey said.
LeAnne opened one of the rear doors. Goody hopped in and snatched up something from the floor.
“She’s got a dog of her own?” said Harvey.
LeAnne saw that Goody had the toy dog in her mouth; Mia’s toy dog, in fact.
“There’s your answer,” she said.
“My answer to what?”
For a moment LeAnne didn’t know where she’d been heading. Then her mind caught up with itself, if that made any sense. “That armband was Mia’s, one hundred percent guaranteed.”
“I don’t get it,” Harvey said.
“I’ll explain on the way back.”
“The way back where?”
LeAnne couldn’t think of the answer to that.
Harvey shot a quick glance at her, then lowered his gaze. “How about that coffee?” he said. “I know a place.”
“I don’t want coffee.”
“Tea, maybe?”
“I don’t drink tea.”
“No? Marci loved it.”
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