by Dana Cameron
Neither thought made me very happy.
I was some ways down the off-ramp for the wrong exit before I realized that I wasn’t heading home. I was heading to the Point. Not so far from the College, but I wondered what I was going to do when I got there. I guessed I’d find out.
An hour later, I pulled onto the historic site’s parking lot, killed the engine, and got out immediately. I vaguely registered the insistent dinging of the sensor that indicated I’d left the keys in the ignition and the door open. Oh well.
The grass needed to be cut again, and it was still damp from the last good thunderstorm; grass seeds stuck to my jeans and my shoes slipped on the slick weeds. My ankles were damp and tickled by the taller, tougher stalks that had survived the last mowing. As I moved, bees varied their course from mine, mosquitoes swarmed, sensing fresh meat, and crickets leapt out soundlessly ahead of me, as if they were torch-boys running ahead of a coach. The air was humid and soon my shirt was stuck to me; I was aware of sweat beading on my upper lip and running down the back of my scalp. There was no wind. If there were noises beyond the pounding in my ears or the insects, I didn’t hear them.
I ignored the excavation units that had been so interesting to me—what was it, a week ago? A month ago? I could barely tell what day it was anymore, anyway—and headed straight for the fence. I stepped up on the bottom rail, swung my leg over, and sat on the top rail. I looked down at the water, a few meters below me, and couldn’t hear the waves for the roaring in my ears.
All it would take is a simple straightening of my legs…
Don’t be an ass. It’s far too short a fall, not nearly bad enough to do any serious damage.
Maybe not here. But think about it: It would be over. There would be no more fear, no more pain, no more worry. No more twitching every time you hear a creak in the house, no more jumping when the phone rings.
I’m not even—
People—your friends, your family—would be safe. They’d be left alone.
I don’t think it works like that. It’s just not as easy as that.
I stared at the horizon, a washed-out whitish gray over slate seas, the sun a cool white disc that occasionally gleamed through the shreds of clouds. The air was warm and damp…I started with that…
It took me a few moments of hard work, but at last I was able to feel my hands gripping the rail I sat on, could feel the rough-hewn wood under my palms. Another two minutes of concentration, and I could feel my feet, heels hooked over the bottom rail. A breeze, faint as a whisper, moved, and my cheek itched. My shirt was soaking, and I could feel the fabric pull and slide against my shoulders when I shrugged.
The feeling of cold numbness, the tingling adrenaline crawl that wouldn’t leave my arms and chest, was still there, but I could feel my body again. I willed it to remain solidly in my possession. Ignore the shivers, ignore the numbness, I thought, don’t let it take over completely…
A throat cleared behind me.
I lurched forward in surprise, but felt a hand grab the back of my shirt.
“Whoa, there! You okay?” It was Sheriff Stannard.
“Holy mother of…damn it, Dave!” Dave Stannard tried to shove me over? Get a grip, Emma, he was pulling you back. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I am sorry, Emma. I tried calling to you, back up in the field, but you were a million miles away—”
I swallowed, tried not to look as guilty as I felt.
“—and I swear, I made as much noise as wet grass will allow, but you didn’t hear me. Better now?”
I nodded, and he slowly released my shirt.
“Want a hand getting down from there?”
I didn’t really need a hand, but I took the one he offered anyway. The ground beneath my feet felt…real. Felt good.
“Don’t need to go for a swim today, all you have to do is hang outside for a minute. Might as well grow gills, this time of year.”
“Yeah,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “Ugh.”
“I keep telling the park rangers that this is completely the wrong kind of fence to have here, for exactly this reason. People climb up on it, sit down to get the view.” He shrugged. “If they’re dumb enough to climb up there and fall off, bust a leg, well, that’s their business.”
“I’m sorry. Sometimes I feel like I have the run of this place…I mean…”
“I know what you mean. Lots of your history here. Not just work, not just family.” Pauline wasn’t family, not in the strict sense, but Dave knew that.
I nodded. “I was just thinking.”
“Lots to think about?” When I didn’t answer right away, he said, “Your husband Brian’s been keeping me posted. I was hoping it was just a fluke, the bones you and Meg found out here.”
“No, it’s Tony Markham all right.”
“So Brian said. I’m still…”
He waited. I shrugged again. I wasn’t ready to tell anyone what had happened earlier this afternoon. Not yet.
“Well, just take care,” Dave said finally. “No sense in wasting all that history, is there? Who’d sort it all out for us?”
“It’s getting chilly out here,” I said.
“Fall’s coming. But you’re shivering.”
“I’ve got a fleece in the car.”
“I’ll walk you up there, then.”
There was no arguing with him, and I was done thinking.
Besides, Dave had asked the question I needed to complete my thoughts. If I wasn’t here, who’d sort it all out? I couldn’t leave that up to just anyone.
When I got home, Brian ran out to the driveway, waving his arms around like a crazy man.
“They found him! They found his body!”
I got out of the car. “What? Who?”
“They’ve found Tony’s body. You don’t need to worry that he’s come back.”
Chapter 17
SAY THAT AGAIN.” I LEANED AGAINST THE CAR, not sure which Tony he might be talking about, not daring to believe him.
“Look, I know there’s a long way to go before the case is completely closed”—Brian’s eyes were wide open, a smile on his face—“but it really looks like Tony Markham is dead. They found his body.”
“How long ago?”
“I just got a call now—”
“No, I mean how long ago did he die?”
Brian frowned. “I don’t get what you mean.”
“Knowing that tells me whether he died five years ago and someone else is responsible for all the crap that’s been going on around here. Or it tells me he died last week, and we might really be through it.”
Brian nodded. “I don’t know exactly, but they kind of gave the impression that it was more recently than not. We’ll have to wait for a full report.”
I nodded impatiently; of the two of us, I wanted to be the judge. “Tell me what they told you.”
“A man’s body, fished it out of the water near Stone Harbor.” Brian swallowed. “It had been in the water a while. It…well, it was kind of a mess…the skin…actually—”
My renewed anxiety pushed aside an image of what water and marine life will do to a human body; the books I’d been reading for fun—mostly about forensic techniques and crime scene processing—were all too clear on the subject. But the fact that there was skin left at all suggested that it hadn’t been in the water very long, probably less than a couple of weeks, I guessed. “But then how can they tell it’s Tony?”
“A male, the right age, the right build, the right kind of clothes—what’s left of them anyway. You know, good quality, not too showy—”
“Yeah, I could find six guys like that down the coffee shop at lunchtime,” I snapped. “Doesn’t make them Tony. What about teeth? What about fingerprints?”
“No teeth. No fingerprints, either.”
“None of those things? Not even teeth? They should have survived, even if the soft tissues didn’t.”
“Apparently, this guy’s hands were…removed. Probably cut off before he
was dumped in the water.” Brian swallowed, looked queasy.
“Cut off? As opposed to what? Shark attack?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Okay, what about teeth?”
“No teeth. His head was cut off as well. Somebody really didn’t like this guy.”
“Are you joking? Brian, this sounds like they’ve found a body and want to call it Tony; it’s all so terribly convenient.” I didn’t want to give up, not yet. “What about blood type, DNA, that sort of thing?”
“Right, they’re doing it,” Brian assured me. “I guess they have to find Tony’s old medical reports, or a relative or something, and that’s going to take time, on top of a full-blown autopsy.”
“And maybe they’ll look for fingerprints then?”
“Em, I said there were no hands.”
“Not his fingerprints. The killer’s. They might be able to find something from that, something left on the…” I slumped down in my seat, shook my head. “Brian, what in the name of God makes them at all sure that it’s Tony?”
Apparently some measure of peace of mind was keeping Brian calmer than I. “I know we need to wait, I just think this is a real hopeful turn. But there’s a couple of things that I’m hanging on to. For one thing, the fact he was shot is significant. We know that he—whoever has been hassling us—was consorting with some pretty shady characters. Getting a head chopped off…well, it’s not inconsistent.”
Not inconsistent? Not good enough. I bit my tongue, just nodded for Brian to go on.
“Then there’s the rope that was tying his guy up. The fibers matched a brand that’s made in the United States, and is used for marine equipment. Sold locally.”
We lived on the coast; I couldn’t get excited about that. “What else?”
Brian broke out into a smile. “The most important thing was a coin.”
“A coin?”
“A coin, found stuffed in one of the shoes.” Brian paused, closed his eyes to help remember. “A gold coin, a guinea, he called it. Is that right? From the 1750s. The sort of thing that you’d find on a ship…that had gone down before the Revolution.”
“Like the one that Tony was looting back at Penitence Point,” I said slowly.
“Right. I never thought I’d be so glad to find out someone was dead.” He grabbed my hands and tried to dance around, but I wouldn’t move. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “It’s too perfect.”
Brian had a dangerous look in his eye; he really didn’t want to be gainsaid in this. “Too perfect, how? It’s pretty good to me.”
How could I explain that after trying to convince Brian and the rest of the world that Tony was back, that I didn’t think this was him? Bad vibes aren’t quantifiable and aren’t very convincing.
“I think someone wants us to believe it’s Tony. I think there was a lot of care taken to ruin all the identifying body parts—head and hands removed, all the quickest identifiable elements dumped in water. It’s classic. Then really damning evidence, something that is too perfect, is planted. And it’s the kind of evidence that doesn’t deteriorate in water.”
Brian was working really hard to keep his patience. “Right, okay, I said they need to do the autopsy. Try to get some DNA. Absolutely. But until then…would it be so bad if we could imagine Tony is dead?”
“It’s just like every soap opera and monster movie you’ve ever seen, Bri. You don’t believe he’s dead until you see the guy in the casket, with fingerprints, teeth and dental work, all intact. Or DNA or something more than evidence that could be planted on a conveniently mangled corpse.”
Brian nodded, but I could tell he was stubbornly hanging on to the hope that this was Tony. “Your dummy in the apartment and this…these are the first tangible evidence that Tony’s involved. And now we’ve got a corpse, right physical look, right location, lots of clues lead to Tony. It’s a real good start.”
I put my hand on my hip. “I think the body’s being served up to us on a silver platter.”
Brian was quiet for a very long time. “Well, when the autopsy is done, you’ll have all the proof you want. Blood types, broken bones, that sort of thing. In the meantime, I bet the attacks will come to an end. I’m betting this is over.” He paused. “I would really love for this to be over.”
I sighed. “Me too. But it may take a long time for the autopsy to get done. Crime labs are wicked backed up these days.”
“Well, until then, we’ll just have to wait and see.”
I called Sergeant Franco myself and they confirmed everything Brian had reported to me. They were “cautiously optimistic” that they had Tony. They said the location where the body was found suggested it wasn’t too far from the place that Ernie said that he met Tony for his instructions. In fact, they’d used the news of Tony’s body being discovered to try and get more from Ernie. While he seemed uneasy with the news—somehow Tony was able to convince his pawns that he cared about them—he didn’t give out any new information. In fact, he became even more reticent than before. Maybe he knew more of Tony’s plans than he was letting on, or maybe he just didn’t know all that much to begin with. It would take about a week to get the report from the autopsy, if we were lucky. Longer, probably, for Tony’s medical history, and what we really needed for conclusive evidence was a DNA sample from a close relative, and I’d never heard Tony mention family; they’d have to work through university records…
Not one untoward thing happened the next day, or the day after that. No spooky presents, no strange cars following me, I didn’t even get cut off in the parking lot at school. No one died near me.
I even won ten bucks on a lottery ticket I bought on impulse.
Maybe my luck is turning, I thought. Maybe I can take this as a sign.
A week passed. Nothing happened still. Cautiously, I tried on the thought that Tony was gone, that the siege was at an end. That I was free.
It still came back to me that if I were Tony, I’d orchestrate just this kind of thing to get someone to let her guard down. But I didn’t want to think like Tony. Didn’t want to think that he was anything but fish food.
Trying not to think of it was almost as good as actually believing it. Brian helped, he told me how he had been wrong when he’d said it had been Duncan or Michael or even Ryan, that it had been Tony, and now Tony was gone. A couple of times he got a little too insistent, but I let it go. It wasn’t quite I-told-you-so, on either of our parts. We began to smile at each other again, pat each other in passing, for no good reason, just like we used to.
Nolan was going to live. He was still in bad shape, but there was reason for hope.
My short-term memory came back. One day the phone rang, and I was merely surprised and annoyed, not startled to death. It was a telemarketer, and I told him in the nicest way possible to take my name off the list, to have a good day. I was proud of myself.
I tried drinking a beer because I felt like a beer. I did it without wondering if I was trying to blot something out, as I had the weeks before. I drank it only because drinking a cold beer with a burger on a hot day is a good thing. I stopped scrutinizing myself for every potential indication that I was losing my mind.
It was Tony, and now he’s gone. He won’t be back. I practiced saying it to myself every once and a while. It was like having an onerous task that had been hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles suddenly removed.
If I’m still wired, it’s because it’s close to the anniversary of the night out at the Point, all those years ago…
Late one afternoon, about a week after the body was found, I realized that I hadn’t recently checked the computer files for pictures, the way that Joel had told me.
I did it now, if only to remove the useless ones from the hard drive and reclaim some of my memory. All of them were pretty boring, shots of the front of the house and the side, probably triggered by birds and squirrels where there weren’t clear pictures of me and Brian going in or out. The last
one, however, was dark and blurry. The only thing clear about it was that there was a human form there. Something the size of a Sasquatch with fair hair lurking outside my door. About three days ago, three in the morning.
I thought quickly. It was faint, and there were no details, but it was definitely human, definitely male, and looked way too much like Temple for me to be completely comfortable.
Whoever it was, was big, at least as big as the guy who attacked Chuck. There were a lot of big guys in the world. None of them had any business wandering outside of my house late at night.
Wait a minute—if the people at the hospital weren’t letting non-family know about Nolan, how did Temple know to come to Massachusetts, to take over his class?
God, it couldn’t be…could it?
I thought for a moment, my skin crawling as my mind raced:
How did he know to come? How did he find out Nolan was shot?
Chuck had been attacked weeks ago…I had just assumed that Temple arrived after Nolan was shot…
He knows all my weaknesses, all my bad habits…
Had Nolan ever actually mentioned Temple by name? He’d said he’d had a friend in California, that I should visit the school, but mightn’t that have been Mr. Anderson? All I could remember was that Nolan had given me an address and telephone number.
Why did he come?
He could kill me with his bare hands…
The first time I spoke to him on the phone, he was talking to someone who wanted money from him. My God, he was arguing with his wife about money when we saw them in the restaurant that night.
He warned me never to feel too comfortable…
Tony loved indirection, separating himself from the dirty work. Temple had gotten here alarmingly fast—was he working for Tony?
He didn’t seem to be the brain dead sort that Tony favored…