“You say that so definitively. You’re the one who brought the book to me, told me what you found about her in it,” Devin snaps.
“I told you that because I wanted you to keep the book quiet while we learned more. I was watching out for both of you. She isn’t a murderer. Do you honestly still not get that? Because that right there is what would have me kicking you out of my jail cell and telling you to go to hell. If you can’t figure that out, then you don’t deserve her.”
“You think that’s why she’s upset? I went there to tell her I wasn’t angry, that I would have served my whole life to protect her. I went there to support her. You think that’s where I went wrong?”
“Devin, look at what she did for you all those years.” Luke crosses the floor and reaches for my briefcase. He pulls out a stack of letters Rebecca wrote to me. “Anywhere in any of these letters does she ask you if you did it? Does she tell you she forgives you for killing him, that she understands and will stand by you in spite of it?”
I know those letters. Every word, every swirl of her pen is seared in my mind from reading them over and over again. It takes me only a second to be able to answer Luke’s question. He’s waving the letters at me, his eyes large and demanding. “No,” I say quietly. “All she ever said was she believed me. She knew without a doubt I would never do something like that.” I take the stack of letters from his hands and leaf through them, like looking at pictures of old friends, each one bringing back a memory and a piece of my past.
The buzz of a vibrating phone brings me back to the present, and I listen as Kurt takes a call. I’ve been waiting all morning for updates from these damn people and now they’re coming in all at once.
When Kurt hangs up he’s faced with both Luke and me staring anxiously at him. “Do you have a status?” I ask, trying not to sound too brash.
“Shit, boys, whoever called in the favor to get me here is one lucky son of a bitch. At my level I don’t get called out for anything less than multimillion-dollar busts or corruption at the highest level. This certainly isn’t that. The operation they are running is unorganized and sloppy. They’re probably bringing in thirty or forty thousand dollars a month, which I guess down here must be big money.”
“It is,” I say, realizing now how Olivia’s help will change the dynamic of this process. “How do you plan to take them down?”
“Frankly, we could just go kick in some doors and catch a lot of these folks red-handed. They don’t seem to be covering their tracks very well. That’s why I think it’s a good thing they think they have the advantage with Rebecca in jail. You should take it one step further and start the rumor mill working that Krylon might pull out of the development deal as well. I need these boys feeling celebratory and cocky. Like I said, whoever pulled the strings to get me here must know someone high up on my food chain. I’ve got more technology dedicated to surveillance than I’ve used on cases three or four times this size. Drones flying over, tails on everyone. Every single phone call made or received within five miles of all the trailers is being monitored and recorded. The second Hoyle calls in and makes some incriminating statement, we’ll have him. The fact that your marshal Nick got his buddy Duncan to flip and become and informant is going to speed things along nicely. If other Marshal’s shows up, they better say cheese because I’ll have so many cameras on him it will be like the paparazzi tracking a socialite. It’s a matter of hours—a day at the most—before we dismantle this thing. If you can keep your girl safe in jail, I’m sure these guys will incriminate themselves in the conspiracy to get her arrested and she’ll be out in a hurry. I’m going to go meet your boy Click over at one of the surveillance spots and brief him. I’ll be in touch.” Kurt slings his jacket over his shoulder and sends a two-fingered salute in my direction.
I should feel better knowing the resolution to all of this is at my fingertips, but something is still eating at my insides. I look down at the letters in my hands and know the one thing that isn’t worked into this masterful plan is what I’ll do when she gets out. How will I fix what I’ve done?
“There is one more thing,” Luke says as he leans himself against the wall and folds his arms across his chest. “They’re exhuming Brent’s body this afternoon.”
“That’s good news as long as Rebecca really didn’t have anything to do with it. If she did, couldn’t we be digging up the evidence to put her away for it?”
“The prosecutor lost his shit, which tells me they really don’t want this happening. I don’t believe Rebecca killed Brent. If she did, why would Hoyle work so hard to cover-up everything and have it pinned on you? I think, from what you told me happened that day, Hoyle killed him. You broke his arm, ended his football career and Hoyle was pissed at both of you. They probably argued and he killed his son. Pinning it on you was the best possible scenario for burying all of this. If you could have seen the prosecutor’s reaction to the order of exhumation you would agree. The truth is buried there and Hoyle doesn’t want it found. I’d imagine he’s going to cause a commotion there.”
“We should go to the cemetery then. That way we can make sure nothing happens. Have Click send extra security as well,” I say as I lay the letters on the table and look for a reason to leave this house. This is the house I bought for her, for us, and being here all day, waiting for her to come back to it, is crushing me. I think I’ve used up all my free passes for forgiveness of stupidity with Rebecca. I’ve insulted her, left her, and hurt her too many times for her to walk out of jail and wipe the slate clean again. I didn’t see her forgiveness coming when I waltzed back up to the house after abandoning her and prepared myself for a lashing. Her ability to forgive me in spite of the fact I didn’t earn or deserve it was one of the most powerful things I’d ever experienced. That wasn’t lost on me, but I realize it’s unlikely to happen again. Especially after what I did.
“You aren’t going anywhere. Jordan is still upstairs working on that book, right? It will be crucial to have that information ready to corroborate any findings by a new medical examiner. Someone needs to stay here and make sure she’s safe. The rest of this plan is well underway. The only thing you need to work on is what the hell you’re going do to make things right with Rebecca. Fix this. Fix what you did.”
“How?” I ask, throwing my hands up and then slapping them down to the table on top of the letters.
“You have the unique experience of having sat right where she is. You know how it feels and you know what it’s like. So the best I can tell, you went in there and did the absolute wrong thing. You accused her of murder when all she needed was your support. Your trust. She stood by you for so long. She never wavered. She needs to know you understand that.”
“But she won’t see me. How am I supposed to tell her I know what I did was wrong and beg her to forgive me if she won’t even let me see her?”
“The answer’s right in front of you, Devin. It always has been,” Luke says as he heads out the door.
I stare down at the letters again. So much of what was written here were lies. No, not lies. Dreams and hopes—that’s how Rebecca thought of them. The heart of these letters was filled with dedication and love, and I felt that every single time one arrived. I go over to the drawer that holds Adeline’s art supplies and I pull out a piece of paper. It has a couple scribbles of blue crayon on the back of it, but I think Rebecca would actually appreciate that. I pull a pen from my bag and sit down at the table to do something I haven’t done in years. Write to Rebecca.
Chapter Eighteen
Rebecca
They are digging up Brent’s body. Probably right this moment and I can’t decide how I feel about that. I want answers as much as anyone else but part of me wishes it didn’t have to come at the expense of disturbing his body. What I’ve never told anyone, what I’ve always kept buried inside me, is that some of my tears in the wake of Devin’s arrest were really for Brent. I mourned him quietly.
He was not kind to me or Devin and that made me wis
h at times he were out of my life forever, but I never wished him dead. When I became a parent myself it gave me a new perspective on what it must have been like for Brent’s mother to have to bury her son. You invest all those years in your children, you give them your whole heart, and if something happens to them you’re smashed into a million pieces.
I wonder if it’s the solitude of jail that’s making me so introspective. Devin spent so much of his life in a cell like this and for the first time I’m starting to understand why he showed up in Clover the way he did. In here, you can stew. Your hate and confusion can burn slow like hot embers. If I were here for a year, wouldn’t I formulate some kind of plan for revenge? Wouldn’t I want someone to pay for what they had done to get me locked up? I don’t want to let a crack of understanding soften my anger with him, but it’s hard with all this silence to not let your mind meander through endless thoughts.
The walls in here are bare and that’s like torture for an artist. I want to spill gallons of colors all over this room. Blood reds. Indigo Blues. Sunshine yellows. I know that people come in here to be punished. I remember doing a report in junior high, well before I ever knew anyone in prison. It was about Eastern State Penitentiary and the radial design of their building. This allowed one guard to watch multiple prisoners, all housed in solitary cells, in an effort to make them reflect on their crimes and become remorseful. The goal was for them to become penitent, thus the name penitentiary. When I wrote the report, none of that meant anything to me. It was an assignment, but as I sit here now I see what happens when you go from a very big world to this tiny box. It’s maddening and it becomes impossible to keep your mind busy with anything except thoughts. That’s a dangerous abyss to slip into. And I intend to keep fighting it by reminding myself that I’ll be out of here in no time. But I might be going a little crazy in the meantime.
Chapter Nineteen
Click
I’ve seen a lot of caskets lowered into the ground. More than I’d like to remember, but this will be the first one I see raised back up. It’s eerie and unsettling but when I got the call from Luke I knew I had to be here. The backup alarm of the excavator is chirping loudly as a man in overalls positions the machine above a grass patch marked with orange spray paint. Cemeteries are hallowed ground in my opinion, and seeing a big piece of construction equipment rolling around puts a knot in my throat.
As the bucket lowers and the machine’s teeth scrape into the earth, I brace myself for lightning to strike. I don’t consider myself superstitious, but I’m religious enough to believe disturbing this grave could result in some holy intervention. From the corner of my eye I see Hoyle’s beat-up pickup truck barreling up the hill toward us, and he’s not alone. I assume he’s got a few cronies with him but instead I see a woman stepping out of his truck the second it comes to a stop.
“Lenny, please don’t do that,” she shouts with tears in her eyes. “Please don’t dig up my boy. Let him be.”
I immediately realize this is Hoyle’s ex-wife and Brent’s mother. She must have driven back into town when she heard about the trial. I can see the excavator operator let go of the controls and pull the earplugs from his ears.
“Oh, Mrs. Hoyle. I’m so sorry. I don’t have a choice,” Lenny says loudly as he idles the machine slightly but stops short of turning it off. “There’s a court order.”
“I don’t care,” she bellows, running to her son’s headstone and hugging it tightly, splaying her body across the grass next to the excavator bucket. “You can’t do this. I won’t move.”
I see Nick step out from the tree line where he was surveying the premises and move toward us. I feel a weight lift from my shoulders, not having to pry this woman off her son’s grave. I’m not sure I have the stomach for that.
“Mrs. Hoyle,” Nick says compassionately. “I’m sorry that you and your family have to go through this but the judge has ordered the body be exhumed so more evidence can be gathered. I promise you I will personally oversee this and ensure your son is brought back to his proper resting place with the dignity he deserves.” Nick plucks his hat from his head and holds it over his chest. He’s crouching down beside the woman and my eyes are locked on Hoyle, who seems as though he might jump out of his skin.
“Somebody beat my boy unconscious and then set my house on fire and killed him,” she barks up at Nick. “There is no dignity in that. If it wasn’t that Sutton boy then it was Rebecca. They were the only two in the whole town that had a problem with him. Everyone else loved him.” Her tears are gone now and replaced by biting, angry words. “They have hurt my family too much already. I won’t let them go desecrating my son’s grave. It’s all I have left.”
“Ma’am, if you truly believe Rebecca Farrus killed your boy, the only way she’ll be tried for this is if we do as the judge has ordered. I understand how upsetting this is, but I’m sorry to say it is happening either way. I don’t want to see you get hurt or arrested trying to stop the unstoppable. If you want more answers on what happened to your boy, this needs to be the next step.”
“I know what happened,” she says as she stands and brushes the dirt off her navy blue pants. “That monster broke Brent’s arm and wrecked his chances at a career in football. Then Brent locked himself in his room and wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t even say goodbye when Harold and I left for our cabin in the mountains. That hussy of a girl, Rebecca, came and hit him upside the head with a baseball bat and then started a fire in my house. I pray you never have to get a call like that about your boys.” She is screaming, the tears flowing.
“I pray that as well,” Nick agrees, hanging his head.
“So I don’t need his body being dug up to have answers. I lay my head down at night and know what happened to him.”
Nick plants his hat back on his head and motions for Lenny to start digging again.
“No!” Hoyle interjects loudly as his ex-wife gets back into the front seat of his truck. “You ain’t doing this.” He climbs the steps of the excavator and pulls Lenny by the neck, ripping him away from the controls. The two men are on the ground by the time Nick and I reach them and Hoyle is pummeling Lenny with his tightly closed fists.
Nick grabs him and yanks him to his feet, pulling his cuffs from behind his back as I help to restrain the surprisingly strong older man.
“Let him go,” Mrs. Hoyle shrieks, as she hops out of the truck and slaps at Nick’s arms. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare arrest him for trying to save my son again. You are a cold-hearted son of a bitch if you put those cuffs on him right now.” She’s yanking at her ex-husband’s arms, and much to my surprise I see Nick loosening his grip.
“You okay, Lenny?” Nick calls over to the equipment operator and when Lenny gets to his feet he brushes off the dust and nods his head.
“I’ll live.”
Nick lets Hoyle’s arms go free and shoves him forward to his truck. “Go on,” he says, tucking his cuffs back behind him. Mrs. Hoyle drags her reluctant ex-husband along and quietly scolds him as she digs her nails into the meat of his arm. They drive off over the crest of a hill in the cemetery, and when they are out of sight I turn toward Nick.
“You were well within the law to arrest him right now,” I say, but I mean it more as a question than a statement.
“I’m very aware of the law, Click, thank you.” He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and passes it over to Lenny who wipes at his bloody nose. “If this were my boy I’d be sick thinking about someone digging him up. I don’t like Hoyle. I don’t have an ounce of respect for him. He’s a cold-blooded hateful bastard. But there is one thing that connects us. We’re both parents. We’re certainly different kinds of parents but either way his kid isn’t ever coming home. I have to consider that.”
“And have you considered it’s possible he killed his own son? Maybe he put him in this grave?” I ask, gesturing down at the dirt pile.
“I’ve considered it many times. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want us doing this, b
ut there is a small chance he’s just a man whose boy got killed and he doesn’t want his remains disturbed.”
I nod my head but don’t entirely agree. Another car pulls up and I worry that the excitement isn’t over. This car, however, is moving much slower. It’s a sleek black sedan with a sticker on the side that I can’t make out. A man steps out and slips a medical mask over his mouth and nose, then snaps rubber gloves over his hands.
“Hello, gentleman. I’m Dr. Patel, the ballistics expert and forensic pathologist from Raleigh. I’ll be overseeing the exhumation and executing a new autopsy. I hear there is quite a bit of controversy over this one,” the tall Indian man says as he slips two protective booties over his shoes.
“Yep,” Lenny says, stepping back into the seat of the excavator and pointing at his swollen nose.
“Oh, I’ve missed some of the excitement,” the doctor says, sounding disappointed. “Well hopefully, the body will be as full of surprises.”
“I thought they were sending a medical examiner. I didn’t realize they’d send someone with so much expertise,” Nick says, tipping the front of his hat at the doctor.
“They originally called an associate of mine but he couldn’t make it and thought this would be right up my alley. I specialize in cold cases. Been involved in quite a few exhumations. They are fairly unique and require some specialized equipment that I have access to. Even brought some of it with me.”
The digging is slowgoing. Lenny is being extra cautious to disturb the grave as little as possible. I help attach the chains that lift the casket up from the hole in the earth. It all seems to be moving at a snail’s pace. I steady the casket with one hand as it sways slightly on its way to the ground.
All My Heart (The Clover Series) Page 12