On a Dark Tide

by Valerie Geary

  Brett should have walked away right then. Irving didn’t want her anywhere near the Andress case. She should have backed off, returned to her desk, and organized paper clips for the rest of the day. Instead, she got into the car and buckled her seatbelt. Technically she wasn’t working the case. She had been invited to ride along as an observer. It was as good of a chance as any to get to know her colleagues and this town better, and if she happened to hear something interesting about the case, so be it. She promised herself she wouldn’t interfere or handle evidence.

  As Eli pulled out of the precinct parking lot, Brett asked, “How come Irving’s sending you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You know, I was top of the list to make detective before you came along.”

  “I didn’t steal your job,” she protested.

  “You kind of did.” But when he said it, he grinned. “Look, no hard feelings. But Irving knows I’m good for this work. Besides, if I want the next spot, I have to keep my interview skills sharp. He got some info from Danny’s interview yesterday that needs checking out. I volunteered. I don’t know what it was like in the department you transferred from, if it was every man for himself or what, but here in Crestwood, we help each other out. If we see a thing that needs doing, we do it.”

  Before Crestwood, Brett had worked on the special unit that eventually brought down serial murderer Archer French. She was assigned early in the investigation, before any connection had been made between Margot’s death and these other girls, and no one had any real idea what kind of monster they were hunting. The local cops were still scrambling to get their heads screwed on straight but calls were flooding into the tip line by the hundreds each day. So Brett was assigned to answer phones, take down whatever information she thought might be useful to the case, and bring those tips to the lead detectives. That was it. Sit at a phone bank twelve hours a day, sifting through tons of garbage, hoping to find something useful. And even though she was ignored by the other officers, shoved into a desk by the bathrooms, she felt helpful, necessary. Like she was a cog in a powerful machine. Like her work, however tedious, could make a difference to this case.

  Except for every tip she brought to her superiors was ignored. The two girls, who called about a dark blue sedan parked outside of their sorority house for three nights in a row, were deemed paranoid and desperate for attention. The Oregon State soccer coach, who nearly got into a fistfight with a campus security guard after finding him lurking in the women’s locker room, was a stuck-up bitch who needed to mind her own damn business. The ninety-year-old widow, who saw a man carrying a shovel into the woods across from her house, was blind and senile. Anyway, it was dark out, and she probably just saw a neighbor taking out the trash.

  Brett had been on the unit for only a few weeks, attending daily briefings, when she met Jimmy, and it was Jimmy who started her thinking about Margot. He suggested that the Ophelia Killer, a name he’d come up with for his articles, was more prolific than the police believed. Up to that point, the police were working under the assumption that the Ophelia Killer had murdered five women. Jimmy claimed there were more.

  Over several rounds of beers, Jimmy pressed Brett for information about the investigation. It didn’t take them long to realize he knew more about the cases than she ever would. After meeting up a few more times, Brett finally told him about Margot. A few days later, Jimmy showed up at the bar with a copy of Margot’s file. Brett didn’t know how he’d done it, who owed him favors, but there it was. A thin folder with barely any information at all, but it was enough for them both to wonder if the Ophelia Killer was somehow connected.

  But when they brought their suspicions to the detective in charge, pointing out the similarities between Margot and the other dead girls, they were brushed aside. Girls died all the time, he said, that didn’t mean the Ophelia Killer was killing every girl. At some point, Jimmy became person of interest.

  So with a hunch, a handful of witness statements, a rough sketch of a possible suspect, and a desire to clear his name, Jimmy had gone to Crestwood. While there, he interviewed half the town, finally finding his way to Mary Andress, who confirmed the suspect in the drawing looked an awful lot like her nephew Archer French. Archer French, who worked as a security guard at the Oregon State Campus. Archer French, who was a bit of a loner and a freak. Archer French, who drove a blue sedan. Archer French, who had been in Crestwood the summer Margot was killed.

  But instead of letting Brett bring the information he’d uncovered to her superior officers and letting the police do their jobs, Jimmy had tried to be a hero. He’d confronted Archer French on his own. He was damn lucky he made it out of that madman’s house alive.

  When the special unit was disbanded, Brett was sent back to the Marion County Sheriff’s department, where she naively assumed her work on the French case would be the turning point in her career. She’d hoped her superiors would recognize her contribution in bringing a murderer to justice and offer her a promotion. Instead, she found herself in the exact same place where she’d started—working as a patrol officer in the far reaches of the county, responding to welfare checks and domestic violence calls, serving eviction notices, and feeling stuck in a never-ending loop of mediocrity.

  Maybe Crestwood was different. Maybe the men in this department could set aside their egos and allow her to be part of their boys’ club, but she doubted it. Policing as a woman was a rigged game, and the rules were always changing.

  * * *

  “You do know that Irving pulled me off the case, right?” Brett asked Eli as he turned the car into the wharf parking lot.

  “Yeah, I heard something about that.” He shut off the engine. “He likes his cases clean, and he has a near-perfect close rate because of it, plus a good rep with the county prosecutor’s office that he doesn’t want ruined. So if he says you’re off a case, he’s probably got a good reason for it. But…” He popped the car door open, and the stench of fish guts blew into the cab. He grinned at her. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  The fish stench followed Brett and Eli into a single-wide trailer where Nathan’s boss, Randy Borkowski, waited for them. He was a small man, squat and round, with thinning hair and bulging eyes. He sat behind a metal desk surrounded by stacks of papers and wrinkled maps. Another larger man stood slightly behind Randy near a pile of fishing buoys. This man was built like a football player with broad shoulders and large biceps. His head nearly touched the low ceiling. One of his eyes was ringed green and yellow from a fading bruise. He scowled through a thick red beard.

  “Let’s make this quick.” Randy spread his hands over the top of the desk. “After you called, I pulled up Nathan’s personnel file and took a closer look. He was working on the Molly Brown. Cole here’s the captain.” He gestured to the hulking fisherman. “Nathan hasn’t always been the most reliable of employees, but we need all the help we can get. Not a lot of young men want to work on boats these days. They’re all moving to Seattle or Vancouver for those fancy office jobs. But Nathan didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, and he was strong, so we kept him on. Even if he was a pain in my ass.”

  “He liked to drink.” Cole’s voice was a graveling bark. “Showed up three sheets to the wind some days. Which case, we wouldn’t let him on the boat. We’d set him up to do some work on the nets and gear out here on the docks until he sobered up. He didn’t do a lot of talking, kept to himself. When he was sober, he was an asset. And when he wasn’t…” He shrugged.

  “Last Friday, how was his mood?” Eli asked. “Was he drunk when he came to work that day?”

  “Nope,” Cole answered. “He was out on the boat with me all day. We worked a twelve-hour shift, came in around five or five-thirty.”

  “Was he acting funny? Scared or nervous?”

  “He’s always been a little jumpy. But no, not any more than usual.”

  Randy shuffled some papers on his desk and said, “There was a note in his file from about two weeks ago.
Seems Cole counted Nathan absent on a day he was supposed to be working? Says here it was unauthorized?” He looked over his shoulder at Cole, whose scowl deepened as he thought a minute, then he snapped his fingers.

  “Right, so. We usually start before sunrise, do some prep work on the boats before we head out. Nathan got to the docks on time that day, and he was sober, but as we were readying to cast off, he’s nowhere to be found. I went up and down the docks looking for him, thinking he was taking a piss or something, but really worried he was sneaking a drink. I caught him with a flask in his jacket pocket once. On the boat. Nearly tossed him overboard, I was so angry. Tossed the flask over instead. Anyway, thought he might be up to no good. Sure enough, I come around the corner over by the mechanic’s shop, and there he is talking to some kid. I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but neither seemed too happy. Nathan tried to give the kid something, an envelope maybe, but the kid kept pushing it back at him like he didn’t want it. Kid stormed off after that. I thought Nathan would come on back to the boat, but instead, he got in his car and drove off. Boat couldn’t wait any longer, so we went without him.”

  “How far away would you say you were?” Eli asked.

  “Oh, about a hundred yards or so. I can show you exactly where it was.”

  Eli nodded, and the four of them walked out to the docks. Cole stood at the end of a pier, where the ramp sloped down to the boats. He pointed toward a large building on the other side of the parking lot, about a football field’s distance from them.

  “Yeah. They were right over there. Right where that lamppost is.”

  “The kid he was talking to,” Eli said, “do you remember what he looked like?”

  “Lanky. Probably a hundred pounds soaking wet. Clean-shaven, and like I said, he looked young. Wore all black, including a leather jacket that looked pretty expensive. Dark hair that could have done with a trim. I dunno. I guess I’ve seen him around places. I just don’t know his name.”

  “You recognized him?”

  “He’s been out at Danny Cyrus’s place a few times, but he just comes and talks to Danny for a minute, then leaves again. He never hangs around for very long.”

  “You and Danny are friends?” Eli asked.

  “We know each other, yeah. We drink together sometimes.”

  “Were you out at his place last Friday night?”

  The question seemed to surprise Cole, who opened his mouth, then quickly snapped it shut. His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest, turning suspicious and defensive. “What’s that got to do with Nathan?”

  Eli shrugged like it was no big deal and offered him a friendly smile. “Just trying to figure out where everyone was the night he died.”

  “Once he left the dock, I didn’t see him.”

  “So, Nathan wasn’t out at Danny’s place on Friday night, then?” Eli asked in a way that sounded like he might already know the answer.

  Cole’s cheeks, what was visible above his beard, reddened.

  “You did go out to Danny’s on Friday, didn’t you?” Eli pressed. “Just want to make sure we’ve got our facts straight.”

  Still tense, Cole nodded slowly. “Sure, I hung out with Danny and a few other guys on Friday night. We were goofing off in the woods, drinking and telling ghost stories and shit.”

  “This kid you saw with Nathan?” Eli asked. “Was he at Danny’s on Friday with the rest of you?”

  “If he was,” Cole said, “I didn’t see him.”

  Cole clammed up after that. Eli asked a few more questions but got nothing else out of him. It was clear he’d said everything he was going to say about Nathan and didn’t think the rest of it was any of Eli’s damn business. Eli thanked him and Randy for their time anyway and let them get back to work. On the way back to the car, Eli turned to Brett and asked if she didn’t mind coming along for one more stop.

  Chapter 16

  From the wharf, Eli drove them out of town toward Lake Chastain. Through the thick wall of trees bordering the road, Brett caught glimpses of the North Cascades’ ridged spine and a flicker of white in the far distance that might have been Mount Baker. Her thoughts flickered, too, trying to make sense of what Cole had told them.

  “Yesterday, Irving said Danny had an alibi for the night Nathan was killed,” she said.

  “He does, but it’s thin. Says he was hanging out in the forest with his drinking buddies. Cole Bozeman being one them.”

  “Let me guess. They were hanging out at the same spot we met up with him and Lincoln Byrne on Saturday afternoon?”

  “Apparently.”

  “But even if Cole saw him there, it would have been easy enough for Danny to sneak away at some point,” she said. “There are plenty of trails, lots of cover, with easy access to the road. He could have killed Nathan and gotten back there before anyone noticed he was even gone.”

  “Sure could have,” Eli agreed.

  He turned off the highway onto a different road than the one they’d taken Saturday. This one was paved to the end, where it widened into a turnout doubling as a driveway for a moss-covered cabin ringed by a rickety-looking front porch. Three hollow-eyed jack-o-lanterns sneered from the steps. Curtains were drawn over the windows. Eli took a gravel off-shoot to the left of the cabin and kept driving to a small meadow surrounded by regal fir trees. Set up on concrete blocks in the center was a trailer with a No Trespassing sign tacked to the door and a Confederate flag hanging off the edge of the metal awning. An ATV and a black and silver motorcycle were parked off to one side.

  Eli had barely thrown the car in park when the trailer door slapped open, and Danny Cyrus stepped out onto the grass. One strap of his overalls was buttoned, the other hung loose like he’d thrown them on in a hurry. He was barefoot and holding a shotgun across his chest.

  Brett reached for the gun in her shoulder holster, but Eli gestured for her to leave it. He rolled down the window. “You can put that thing away, Danny. We’re just here to talk.”

  Danny glared through the windshield a moment as if deciding what he wanted to do. Even though Eli seemed to think he was harmless, Brett still kept her hand close to her gun. Another second, and then Danny lowered the shotgun and leaned it against the side of the trailer. It was still well within reach, but no longer an imminent threat. He patted his hands over his overalls before finally settling on the back pocket from which he pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He tipped out one of the cigarettes and cupped it to his mouth, lighting the end and blowing smoke toward the sky.

  Eli got out of the car first. Brett, a few seconds after. She stood behind him with her hands firm on her hips, feeling the weight of her gun in its holster. She kept a close eye on Danny’s hands, ready to pull her weapon if he made even the slightest, hostile twitch.

  “At least you came to the front door this time,” Danny said between puffs of a cigarette. “But I still ain’t asking you inside.”

  “We can talk out here as good as in there,” Eli said.

  Danny sucked his cigarette one last time, then dropped the butt in the dirt, not bothering to snuff the ember.

  “What’d ya bring her for?” His gaze shifted to Brett, eyes roaming the length of her before settling on her face. “I know who you are. You think you can hide behind that badge and those fancy clothes, but I never forget a face. Even if you are all grown up now. You here to ask me about your sister? ‘Cause like I said back then, and like I’ll say until the day I’m dead and buried, I had nothing to do with what happened to her. We had some good times that summer, but that’s all we did. So if you came out here to stir things up for me again, you can get right back in that car and drive the fuck back out of here.”

  “We’re not here to talk about Margot,” Eli said.

  Her name on his lips was an invocation that drew from the crisp autumn air a golden-haired girl, a bright-eyed nymph. Margot, sitting on the edge of the docks, kicking her feet in the water, spraying di
amonds across the bluest of skies. Margot, head tilted back, laughing at everything and nothing all at once. Twenty years gone, dead more years than she’d been alive, and yet in the seconds it took for Eli to say her name, she was resurrected. Brett blinked away the images and returned her focus to Danny.

  “We’re here to ask you a few follow-up questions about Nathan,” Eli said.

  “I said all I’m going to say about it to that black cop who was harassing me yesterday.” He crossed his arms over his chest and started tapping one foot.

  “Do you know a kid about seventeen or eighteen, might still be in high school or recently graduated? Wears a lot of black? Nice leather jacket? Floppy hair?” Eli made a motion with his hand, dipping his fingers down his forehead.

  Danny stopped tapping his foot. “I might. What do you want with him?”

  “Just need his name, then we can go on and leave you alone.”

  “He in trouble or something?”

  “Nope, we just need to talk with him like we’re talking with you.” Eli offered a tight-lipped smile.

  Danny’s mouth twitched. “Lotta kids around this town fit that description.”

  “And they all hang out with you?” Eli pressed.

  “Who said anyone’s hanging out with me?” His eyes narrowed.

  “Come on, Danny, for once, can’t you cooperate with us?”

  A laugh exploded from his mouth. “Since when have I not been cooperating? I answer every single question you pigs ask me. It’s not my fault you don’t listen to any of my goddamned answers.”

  Eli widened his stance and matched Danny’s defensive posture of arms crossed over chest. “Just tell us his name, Danny. We’ve got one witness saying this kid was an associate of yours and that he was fighting with Nathan a couple of weeks ago. Then we’ve got Nathan’s own mother saying you threatened her with both a bat and a gun, that you were claiming Nathan owed you money. Now, I know you swear up and down you have an alibi for the night he died, but you and I both know alibis are easy to fake, so how about giving me something better than that?”