“You don’t know crap, Harris.”
“Don’t bet on it, Callahan. You might be surprised by what I know.”
My insides clenched. What does that mean?
He smirked and lifted his chin, looking over my shoulder. “That’s a long ways down, ain’t it? You know, a couple years ago, a kid came out here and got pumped up on meth. He started hallucinating. Thought he was being attacked by flesh-eating bugs. Ran himself right off this cliff. Such a sad thing. Took us three whole days to find him down there. Course, we didn’t have your dog at that time.”
Acid stung the back of my throat. Even if I hadn’t held the lead and I’d . . . Would they use Wilco? My stomach roiled.
Harris opened his mouth, sucked, snorting through his nose, turned his head, and hocked a green glob of spit. It glowed iridescently against the white snow. “You hear the latest?”
I felt sick.
He went on: “Pusser got a statement from Hatch Anderson’s attorney. Hatch claims that Nevan Meath showed up that night with a baseball bat and smashed up Maura’s car. We’re getting a warrant now to search the Meath trailer.”
The engine oil. Nevan might have been up here, maybe he even bashed up Maura’s headlights. Still... “And you buy that? Come on, Harris. You’re not that stupid. Why’s Hatch just now telling us this?”
He ignored me, his mind already working out the details of a guilty Pavee. It was always the same for us: tried without proof, culpable without merit. “That dirty knacker probably did in the car and then went after his preggie girlfriend.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya, Harris?”
“You bet. Ask me, all you people belong behind bars.” He took a step closer. I held my ground. He was just inches from my face. “Know what I’ve been wonderin’?”
“Why you’re so butt ugly?”
“Been asking myself why someone went to all the trouble to shoot Dublin Costello, hide his body, then burn down his trailer?”
I swallowed hard again. Wilco came to my side and circled my feet. He’d picked up on my distress. If my dog had picked up on it, Harris probably had, too. Stay calm, Brynn. Stay calm. I shrugged. “Pusser seems to think it was the Mexicans, that Costello was in on the drug pipeline and knew too much.”
“Ever known a gangbanger to bother hiding the body? Drive-bys, walk-bys, or a bullet to the brain, execution style. Kill and retreat, that’s how they operate. The body’s their trophy, a souvenir of their handiwork. Not something they’d hide.” He leaned in even closer. The stench of stale coffee steamed the cold air. “But it’s the trailer that really bothers me.”
“Why’s that?”
“Come on, Callahan. ‘You’re not that stupid.’ ” He sneered the repeat of my earlier words.
An ugly brew of fear and anger boiled inside me: hot, acidic, potent . . . flooding my mind, blurring my vision. I’d been too long without food, too long without a drink, and had way too many reasons for bile to fill my gut. Keep calm, girl. Don’t let him see ya sweat.
He stared intensely, taking in every emotion that crossed my face. “Think about it. Out of all those trashy trailers you people live in, someone knew exactly which one belonged to Costello. He never would have let the Mexicans into his territory. He wouldn’t have been that stupid. Still, someone knew. You know why? Because it was an inside job, that’s why. All I have to do is figure out which one of you gypsies had motive and the weapon.”
The roots of my hair dampened with moist fear. A high-pitched buzzing echoed between my ears. I was going to puke.
Harris noticed. A sly smile crept onto his face. “You’re not looking so good, Callahan.”
CHAPTER 19
I left Harris on the trail and headed back down the mountain just as the sun slipped under the horizon. About a half mile down the road, my cell service kicked in again. Five missed calls from Pusser. I should have pulled over and called him back. I didn’t. I kept driving, my anxiety ratcheting up as the trees whizzed by outside my window. I flipped the radio off, then on again. I wasn’t much in the mood for music, but I couldn’t stand the silence, either.
Farther down the road, my headlights reflected on Deputy Parks’s cruiser next to an old farmhouse. I pulled up and looked around. Her vehicle was empty and there was no sign of activity anywhere.
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. Where are you, Parks?
The house looked abandoned. Peeled white paint exposed rotting wood planks, the front porch was partially collapsed, and many of the windows were cracked or boarded over with plywood. The whole place seemed about to collapse from exhaustion. I looked off in the distance where a large barn stood. It must have been something in its glory days, but was now practically see-through. I squinted, wondering if Parks might be over there. I hesitated. The fire tower I could explain: hiking, enjoying some fresh air, whatever, but my presence on a suspect’s property was a direct violation of Pusser’s orders. Grounds for dismissal. But a litany of possible tragedies swirled through my mind. And none of them boded well for Parks.
Screw Pusser. I was here and I wasn’t leaving until I knew Parks was okay.
I cut the engine, but kept my headlights trained on the front of the darkened house. I opened the car door, listening, then attached Wilco’s lead and got out with my dog.
“Looking for me?”
I wheeled around. “Parks. I saw your cruiser, but—”
“I was behind the barn. I didn’t even hear you pull in. You’re still in uniform.”
“Yeah. Haven’t really had time to change yet. What is this place?”
“Jacob Fisher’s address.”
I looked back at the dilapidated house, the trash in the yard, for any sign of life. Nothing. I heard a rustling sound from the barren bushes by the porch. Probably a coon, or some other critter. Wilco strained against his lead. I clamped down. Easy, easy! I was in enough trouble as it was, without my dog getting out of control again.
“No one’s home, but I found something interesting. Back by the barn, there’s an old chicken coop.”
“Chickens?”
“No. Just feathers. A lot of feathers.”
“No birds?”
“Nope. Not a one.” She fingered her cross necklace again.
“Could be they killed them all and hung them from that tree up by the cave.” I yanked back again on Wilco’s leash. Behave, dog! Again I glanced around the property, shook my head. “I can’t believe how these people live. It doesn’t look like there’s any electricity or propane hooked up. I’m not sure how they’re heating the place. And do you smell that?”
“Yeah. Raw sewage. And my kids complain when I put a limit on how much television they can watch. They don’t know how good they got it.” She looked at me. “Pusser’s not happy with you.”
“Nothing new there.”
“I’m serious, Brynn. Harris told him you were just up at the party site.”
“Harris has a big mouth.”
“Still, you shouldn’t have been there. Or here.”
“I only came here because I was driving by and saw your vehicle. I thought you might need help. Pusser doesn’t even need to know I was here.” I opened the car door to get back in. “Maybe I should get going.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell him. But I wouldn’t push your luck with him. He’s been in a piss-poor mood lately.”
“I’ve noticed. Worse than usual.”
“Yeah, well, it’s that time of year.”
“What do you mean?” I motioned for Wilco to get in. He hopped up and took his normal position in the passenger seat. My constant copilot.
“Guess you haven’t been around him long enough to know, but every year around this time, Pusser gets in a mood. No one knows why. But some years it’s pretty bad. We’ve just all come to expect it. We know to stay out of his way. He usually gets okay again in a couple weeks.”
A shadow darted around the edge of the house. I startled. “You see that?”
&n
bsp; “No. What?”
In the still night air, the creek of the porch boards sounded like a wounded animal’s cry, high-pitched and hollow and mournful. Something I’d heard before. I looked through the car window at my dog. Something I never wanted to hear again. “Someone’s here.”
“I checked the place out already. No one’s—”
A twig snapped.
She turned, her hand moving to her gun; with her other hand, she pointed across the yard to a giant oak. “It came from over there, behind that tree.”
I squinted. My headlights barely illuminated the tree’s bare branches. “I don’t see anything.”
Another snapping sound. This one from the opposite direction. Parks took cover behind the front bumper, crouching low and drawing her gun. “It’s those devil people. I know it is.”
I’d joined her behind the bumper. “It’s not devil people, Parks. Calm down.” The voice of reason, yet I squeezed my sweat-slicked palm around the grip of my own gun and eyed my dog. He was whining and pawing at the window. He was no use to us locked inside the car, but I couldn’t risk leaving cover to get to him.
Parks cupped a hand to her mouth. “Who’s out there? Show yourself!”
My heart pounded against my ribs.
She yelled again. “Who’s there?”
A high-pitched half cackle, half whisper, like a shrill and evil taunt, pierced the air and echoed around us. I rotated and caught a flash of movement to the right, raised my gun, and panned the yard. Nothing. “What the hell?”
Next to me, Parks trembled. “Devil people.”
Darkness and shadows, strange noises, the games our minds play. I knew them all too well. The most normal things become instant nightmares. “Probably just . . .” The shadow darted between the house and a nearby tree. I trained my weapon, finger on the trigger, then jerked it away. The shadow was small and darting around playful-like. It was a kid, just a kid.
I holstered my gun, my hand shaking now. “It’s a couple kids,” I managed to tell Parks.
Kids. Just kids. Like before. In Kabul.
Sweat dribbled along my hairline. I turned away from the car’s headlights, hoping to hide the physical change coming over me. A familiar dread churned in my gut, I knew what was next. Stop. Stop . . . don’t go there.
But I did.
* * *
A dark veil descended on my mind, and the line between now and then blurred.
He’s there. On the ground. His glazed brown eyes stare lifelessly from an impish face. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek. And blood. A lot of blood.
That’s because I shot him in the head.
I shot a kid.
“Marine, clear out!”
I shot a kid.
An explosion rips through the air. Debris rains down around us. Someone calls for the TacSat radio. My dog barks and pulls at his lead. I don’t move. Corporal shakes me. “I said move out, Callahan!”
I can’t pull my eyes away. He’s just a boy. Bony and thin, the kufi he wears swallows him whole. His hands, small, brown, with dirt-encrusted nails, grip an M16. . . .
I’m shoved from behind. “Forget him, Callahan. He was gunning for us. Kill or be killed. Now move!”
Bullets spray the area. Someone’s talking into the radio. “Two down, call for MERT!”
Corporal shakes me. “Damn it, Callahan! Get your head in the game.”
* * *
“Brynn? Brynn?” It was Parks. She shook my arm, her eyes wide with worry. “Are you okay?”
I looked around. “Sorry. I . . . I . . . What were you saying?”
Parks was standing next to me. She’d already holstered her weapon. She tilted her head my way, shifted her stance, unsure of what had happened. I was unsure too. Sometimes what seemed like an eternity in my distressed mind was only a few seconds of real time. I blinked, my mind racing for a cover story.
None was needed. A noise from the road spun us both around. An old Ford pickup turned in and rumbled down the driveway, a single silhouette outlined behind the wheel.
“This must be Jacob,” Parks said.
A teenage boy got out of the truck. Black hair and pale skin . . . but nothing in particular struck me about his features beyond the fact that he gave off an aura of cold indifference. “What are you cops doing here?”
Parks stepped forward. “Jacob Fisher?”
“Yeah.” He looked around. “What’d you do with my brothers?”
“Your brothers?”
“Elijah and Levi.”
Parks and I exchanged a look. Parks fired off the first question. “Are your parents home?”
“It’s just our mother. She’s on a business trip.”
Parks stared him down. “Where?”
“Atlanta.”
I rolled my shoulders, keeping quiet and letting Parks ask all the questions. Anxiety zinged through my body; my fingers itched for a pill—a little pop of relief. I ached to climb into my cruiser and take refuge with my dog.
Parks was still asking questions. “When’s she coming home?”
“In a few days.”
“How old are your brothers?”
“Eleven. They’re twins.”
Parks switched gears. “We’re here to ask a few questions about last Thursday. The night Maura Keene went missing.”
Jacob’s expression remained flat. “What would I know about that?”
“What were you doing last Friday evening?”
“Nothing. I came home after school and stayed here.”
“You didn’t go out?”
“No.” He reached into the bed of the truck and pulled out a box marked PERISHABLE. Food-pantry boxes.
“Anyone come over?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Who?”
He didn’t answer.
Parks pushed it. “We’re trying to piece together everything that happened that night. Who came to see you?”
“A friend. Her name’s Winnie. I know her from school.”
“What time did she get here?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Late. It’d been dark for a while.”
“What did you do?”
“Not much. Talked. Messed around a little. She was mostly drinking and talking on her phone. I got bored and took her home.”
“She say anything about Maura?”
He looked toward the house. “I gotta take the food inside and put it away.”
Parks cocked her head. “Did Winnie say anything about Maura?”
“No . . . I don’t know. She was mad at her, I guess. Maura hooked up with some guy she liked.”
“Hatch Anderson?”
He nodded. Parks pressed on. “Did you see Maura’s fiancé that night? Nevan’s his name.”
“Nope.” He shifted the box in his hands. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened to Maura. But that’s all I know. I’ve got to get this stuff put away.”
I stepped in front of him. “Officer Parks noticed that you’re missing some chickens.”
His eyes darted toward the barn, back at my car and my dog, and back to me. He shrugged. “Something got into the pen. Killed them all. It happens.”
Giggles. Not taunts by devil people, but children’s giggles—that’s what we’d heard earlier. This time from the front porch. I looked, but even with the headlights shining that way, I couldn’t see anyone. I glanced at Parks. She shook her head.
I turned back and locked stares with Jacob. His eyes were two dark pits of inky oil that drew me in and held me captive. His gaze moved down my face and settled on my neck. A little light sparked in his expression. He’d found a weakness. He tilted his head and smirked. He wanted me to know that he knew. He wanted to unnerve me. This kid seemed okay on the surface, but was hard and cold, through and through. A part of me shivered, recoiled at his gaze, fell right into the power trip he wanted to have over me. Yet a little piece of my heart went out to him, too. Just a kid, I reminded myself. A child who, judging by his living
conditions, had probably suffered years of neglect, if not abuse. No wonder.
I forced myself to remain still. We stood like that, for what seemed like a full minute: him staring; me feeling exposed and vulnerable. But I didn’t flinch. And finally he turned away.
He crossed the yard and climbed the porch steps. As he neared the door, two small boys popped out of the shadows and followed him into the house, their high-pitched giggles lingering behind them.
CHAPTER 20
It was 10:00 P.M. by the time I pulled into Bone Gap. Red and blue lights glowed above the east end of the trailer park. Several officers were standing outside the Meaths’ place. I got out of my vehicle. It was noisy: people shouting, car doors slamming, dogs barking. I let Wilco out and he beelined for the Lurcher kennels in the back of the property—another chance to torment his caged friends.
I approached a huddle of uniformed officers. “Is the sheriff inside?”
One of the officers turned my way. I’d seen him around before, but couldn’t recall his name. “Yeah. Sheriff’s inside, but we’re not supposed to let anyone else in.”
Two more officers walked the perimeter of the trailer, shining lights around the trailer’s axels. I folded my arms and waited. Shadows passed back and forth behind the curtained windows. Out front, Mrs. Meath stood in a heavy robe cinched over a nightgown, and boots on her feet. She was agitated. Her voice cut over the noise of the crowd, shrill and panicked. “You damn muskers have no right to be in there. This is my home. My home. You hear me?”
I went to her and placed my hand on her shoulder. “Take it easy, Kitty. You’re getting too upset—”
She pushed me away. “Don’t touch me. You’re one of them now. Course you’ve never really been one of us, have you? You Callahans never could follow the clan code, could you? Not your whorin’ mama, not you.”
I drew back, dazed. I looked around for help from my neighbors, people I’d known all my life. Their contemptuous stares caught me off guard. I recoiled and felt completely alone in the world. Is this how Gran felt?
“Over here! We found something.”
I turned back to the trailer. An officer was crouched down in the evergreen shrubs that ran along the base of the trailer, his flashlight focused on one particular spot. “Someone get the sheriff. I found it.”
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