by CJ Birch
“Of course, why else would he have been on the side of the road? I’ll get Neil to contact dispatch and find Stan’s last call in.”
“Could’ve been someone passing through.”
Elle snorted. “You know as well as I do, there’s nothing worth passing through. No, I’m going on the hunch that these two murders are connected.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes as they both contemplated what this meant for Turlough.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the vote?”
Jack leaned back to look at her. “Why do you think I didn’t tell you?” He handed her a napkin from his takeout bag. “I didn’t want you to worry when you had so many more important things to deal with.”
She took the napkin and blew her nose. “It is important, Jack.” She didn’t know how to put it into words. Doing this job without him would make it less important, like he was helping carry on a tradition. Without him, part of the history of it would die, like it had when Bailey died. “If they vote yes you’ll be out of a job.”
“That might not be so bad.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I’m not as young as I used to be. Maybe it’s time I give someone else a chance.”
“I don’t want your job.”
“But who better to have it?”
He got up from the bed and fished out a manila folder from his case. He handed it to Elle. “This is the other reason I came. Neil wanted you to see them.”
Elle opened the folder. Inside were several pictures of a knife sitting in gravel. She flipped through each one, stopping at the last.
“It was found next to Stan’s cruiser.”
The last picture had a close up of the knife with the initials FA carved into the handle. She recognized it immediately. She looked up at Jack. Apparently he had recognized it as well.
No, the worst was still to come.
* * *
Neil cast his line and watched it dance along the surface of the calm river before sinking beneath the ripple. The air had congealed into one sticky, humid mass. It hung low like the sun, flecking the water and grass in an orange haze.
Neil popped the tab on a can of Schlitz and gulped down half. He belched and began reeling in his line for another go.
Peace and quiet. From the moment he’d woken that morning, he’d had one goal. Get his line in before the sun set. Out here on his dock, with the sun low, a cold beer at his feet, he could forget the dread he felt. Forget the hopelessness he felt every time Elle left him in charge. But most importantly, forget the betrayal and anger he felt toward her.
She’d known Jessie was in town and why and she’d kept it from him. He could understand her embarrassment. Nobody liked getting caught sleeping around. But what if she’d been keeping other things from coming to light?
Elle was the most honest person he knew. Time and again he’d seen her come up against EJ, never playing sides, always keeping it fair. Yet this guy, Jessie Forrester, had her acting like a silly schoolgirl. If she’d been afraid to tell them about being in Jessie’s motel with him, what else was she hiding?
When he’d found Elle’s truck parked behind Stan’s cruiser, Stan dead and Elle missing, it scared him shitless. He’d thought the worst. That she’d come across some maniac shooting Stan and he’d pulled her into the woods to rape and kill her.
He was angry she’d lied to him and he was angry she’d been reckless with her own life. And those two thoughts kept butting heads in his mind. How could he be angry with her for keeping him in the dark and angry that he’d almost lost her at the same time?
Out here with only the lapping at the dock and the sounds of insects doing flybys, he could forget the rest of the world even existed. It was his equivalent to Elle’s runs or Tully’s candlelit baths.
On his third throw, he got a tug back, but the line had only snared on some reeds.
Fishing was Neil’s sport as much as you could call it one. In his younger years, he’d fantasized about football and baseball, joining the school teams. But he wasn’t built for those kinds of activities.
In his senior year, he’d joined a tree planting expedition up north in Manitoba, mostly to impress the girl he was dating. But he also wanted to prove to his mother that he could achieve something on his own, something active.
Halfway through the week, Mark Walden, one of the other planters, went missing. Neil volunteered to help with the search. Six hours in they still hadn’t found anything. Neil came to a large ravine. With no heed to his trousers, he charged down the hillside, vaulting over fallen trunks, crashing through brush, thumping past evergreens. He felt brave and courageous like all those adventurers he’d read about as a kid. He was James Bruce sailing into the unknown, discovering great things that needed discovering. About halfway down, he had to pause, resting his large pulpy hand against the needle-sharp bark of an oak. The air thickened. Black flies surged in unison. He’d forgotten exploring took an effort he lacked.
He could hear his mother’s cracked voice telling him to slow down, to take it easy. Always wary of overexertion, his mother the cautious, the protector. “Don’t go too far. Don’t go so fast.” Her eyes cast to the sky, looking for confirmation as if lightning would rip through the clouds and strike down anyone moving too fast over her lawn. That’s not to say he didn’t appreciate his mother. They had a very supportive relationship. She’d baked, he’d eaten. And eaten. Until he resembled the portly dough boy prominent on his mother’s favorite baking supplements. It was no wonder he’d been so quick to marry Tully. Wasn’t food just another word for love? A way to look after those you cared for?
When he reached the bottom, his efforts were rewarded. He found Mark sprawled on the ground, his left leg at an odd angle, blood and scrapes covering his face and hands. Instead of being revolted, Neil felt exhilarated. Because of his actions, his initiative, he’d been the one to find Mark. He knelt and felt for a pulse. It thumped against his finger. Not only had he found him, he’d found him alive.
After the ambulance pulled away, after the accolades and celebrations, Neil gazed up at the sky. The stars were framed by a silhouetted break in the canopy. A feeling of contentment washed over him. He knew then that he wanted to help people. As soon as he was eligible, he applied to the Flynn County Sheriff’s Department.
He hadn’t regretted that decision. Not even when his mother threatened to disown him. Not even on days like today, investigating the murder of a fellow officer. He knew this was where he belonged. Just like he knew the moment he’d shook Stan’s hand that he belonged on the force.
After a few more casts and one more beer, he got another tug on his line.
That’s how Elle found him, gutting a trout on his picnic table. Entrails dripped through the slats.
“Just what you needed, more blood and guts.”
He stopped mid-chop to see Elle picking her way across his lawn. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? Resting?” He brought his knife down with a loud thwap, slicing the trout’s head off.
“Did you really think I’d lie around after seeing these?” She waved the pictures he’d sent of the knife.
He held up his hand, the one covered in scales. “I just wanted you to be aware, that’s all.” He set down his knife, wiped his hands on a cloth and folded his arms. “So what’s the game plan?”
“What do you think?”
Neil didn’t say anything, just stared across the picnic table at her, then shrugged.
“Jesus, Neil.” She smacked the folder on the table. “I didn’t mean to hold out on you. I was…I don’t know. But I’d never hide evidence, and I haven’t.”
“So you lied to us.”
“I needed time to figure things out—”
“Elle, what were you even doing in his motel room?” The way he said it sounded the same as when she asked herself that very question the morning after. It sounded like disappointment. “It’s none of my business.” He turned and walked toward the edge of the dock. Elle had no idea how to make this right. It wo
uld take a lot more than coming clean to get Neil to trust her again. She’d broken a code they’d developed early on. No bullshit.
He leaned down and grabbed two beers from his cooler. “You look like you could use this.” He handed her one of the cans. It was Neil’s version of a lifeline.
She figured the best way to start would be to apologize. She opened her beer, took a long drink, then began the story from the first time Jessie called her to come meet him.
The sun was long down by the time she began telling Neil about her rendezvous with Jessie the night he was murdered. He had the look of someone watching a fatal bus crash without being able to do anything about it.
“I mean, what else is there to say? I screwed up. I should never have met him that night. I was on duty, but I figured I had to swing by the Maverty house on patrol anyway.” She stared out at the river, which was now a black strip. Moonlight glinted off the few ripples carving out the rocks. She looked back at Neil. “How was I supposed to know when I walked out of the house that was the last time anyone would see him alive?”
“So he calls you up after twelve years and asks you for twenty-five grand and you run right over and give it to him?”
“Neil, it’s not like that.”
“Well, then tell me, because I can’t understand why you would give anyone that kind of money. You know it’s not for anything good, no matter what they say. And an ex to boot. Jesus, Elle. This doesn’t even sound like you.”
Elle couldn’t explain it to Neil. She couldn’t explain it to herself. There was something about Jessie that had always made her do things she didn’t think she could and, more often, things she shouldn’t. It had been that way since the day they met. And the worst part was he knew it.
Back in high school, he’d started a tradition as captain of the football team. On the last day of summer, he would bring the new football team out to the cliff overlooking the Red. If you had the guts, the cliff made a great place to jump. The river swooped around the bend like a roller coaster ride. The last rookie to jump spent the next season washing the team’s jock straps. The last year Jessie was captain, he brought Elle with him. At the time she hadn’t known why. Was it to show off that he could make a bunch of dumb jocks do even dumber things? Or did he want to impress her with the daringness of his team? He’d lined them up along the edge to explain the exercise. More than a few balked. Not only was it high, but it was midnight, which made the river below impossible to see. The full moon illuminated the surrounding grass in direct contrast to the dark chasm below. If you gauged it wrong, you would end up on the shallow bank along the edge of the cliff instead of the middle where it dipped. In some places it was more than three meters deep.
“Come on. You’re a bunch of pussies,” he shouted. He turned the full power of his grin on Elle. His teeth were so white they shone in the moonlight. “Even my girlfriend has bigger cojones than you pussies.”
And with that, Elle knew why he’d brought her. Without thinking, she took a step back and leaped. The night air sucked at her as she fell, enveloping her in its velvet embrace. She didn’t have time to think about the consequences. The only thing that flashed through her mind was that grin of Jessie’s, no doubt laughing from the safety of the clearing. She had become invisible as she jumped, only an echoing splash somewhere at the base of the cliff.
When she hit, she hit hard. Her head bounced off the surface of the water as she went under. Unprepared, her breath whooshed out, left behind as the current carried her around the bend. She fought the momentum but couldn’t see the obstacles in front of her. They ripped at her clothes, which weighted her, pulling her to the bottom. She wrestled her jean jacket off, letting it sink as she swam to shore. A rock caught her elbow. Branches scratched at her bare legs. By the time she crawled onto the rocky beach and lay panting beneath the stars, she had a broken eardrum and scratches over most of her body. “Well, that was dumb,” she said, then vomited up a lake of beer onto the rocks next to her.
That was the last time she ever jumped into the Red from the cliff. It had scared her more than a little. Not only at what could have happened, but what she was willing to do for Jessie.
If she was being honest with herself, the real reason she met Jessie at the Maverty house that night was because she felt guilty. This guilt had consumed most of her adult life. She felt like a fraud for most of high school. Pretending to be something she wasn’t. Even now, she only dealt with it by keeping part of herself so far hidden that it was more like a memory. She thought if she could make it up to Jessie somehow, maybe she wouldn’t be so damned scared of herself all the time.
“It doesn’t matter why. Not now. The simple fact is, I met him at the Maverty house to give him money, and after I left, someone killed him for it.”
Neil sat back digesting that thought. He didn’t know if he should be happy Elle was giving him all the facts or pissed off that she’d withheld the most important one. “So you think that after you left, someone came by, saw Jessie with a bag of money, shot him, mutilated him, and ran off with the money?”
“We didn’t find the money, so what other conclusion is there?” Elle asked.
“But who would be hanging around the Maverty house except a bunch of teenagers?”
“I don’t know. There was no one there when I arrived except Jessie. Everyone was at that keg party. Maybe someone followed him there?”
“Christ. Who in town’s been spending a lot of money in the last week or two?” Neil asked.
Elle’s cell phone chirped. She pulled it out of her back pocket but didn’t recognize the number. It had a Chicago area code. She answered it assuming it had something to do with the case. “Sheriff Ashley.” She waited. “Hello?” No answer. She hung up and checked the number again. “Ask your wife, she’d know.”
He nodded. If there was anyone on a spending spree, Tully would know. “The other possibility is a drifter got him. He sees the drive, follows it looking for a place to spend the night. Sees your cruiser so he hides out waiting for you to leave and sees the exchange. Then, stabs Forrester after you leave and takes the money.”
“But then who shot him? That’s what’s not sitting right with me. If you’ve got a gun and can kill with it, you’re not going to take the time to pull out a knife and create a big mess. It’s almost like two people tried to kill him.”
“Shit. You think we got two people working together?”
Elle dropped her head into her hands, rubbing her eyes. “It’s too early to speculate. All we know is that Jessie had twenty-five thousand dollars on him when I left. And when we found him a day later, he didn’t. Until we know more, I don’t want to play guessing games.” She raised her head and looked toward the river. “The truth is, I’m too involved in this. I hate to do this to you, Neil, but I’m going to have to put you in charge.”
Neil was already shaking his head by the time she finished. The last thing he wanted to do was relive the last two days without Elle in charge. “You are the best person here to get this solved. If you step down that only leaves me and two part-time deputies.”
“I was the last person to see him alive. I created the motive to kill him. Those are two good reasons to step down.”
“You weren’t the last one to see him alive. The killer was. Think about this: If you step down, that’s going to create a whole lot of questions you don’t need right now. Not with everything that’s happening with Case and the coroner’s job. How is it going to look to the city council if you step down from this investigation? They’re going to think you’re not up to the job, or worse, that you can’t be trusted with the job.”
“A second ago, you were pissed at me for withholding information from you. Now you want me to lie to the city council? I can’t do it.”
“That’s different. They’re on a need-to-know basis. I’m not. If you step down now, you can pretty much kiss this job good-bye. They’ll force you out. The same way they’re forcing Case out.” And that would leave Neil i
n charge.
He reached out and patted the table in front of her. Neither of them were the touching type. They’d set their relationship ground rules years ago. And it didn’t involve touching. Or hugging. In fact, Neil couldn’t remember Elle ever hugging anyone. She was a very guarded and solitary person. Maybe that’s why she’d met Jessie in his hotel room that night. She was starved for companionship. God knows she didn’t get it from that brother of hers.
“Please, Elle. Give it a few more days. We have no idea why Jessie was killed. And now Stan.”
Elle nodded but didn’t say anything, too afraid the tears would come out with her voice.
“Did you find anything else besides the knife?”
“Not yet. Like Jessie, he was shot. Missed his heart by an inch. Case thinks it’s a different gun too.”
Elle groaned. “That doesn’t make sense. There’s no way I’m going to believe we have two, possibly three killers running around Turlough. Stan’s murder has to be connected to Jessie’s somehow.”
“And we’ll find it.”
They sat in silence, sipping their beers, watching the river pass by. After some time, Neil pushed at the folder Elle had dropped on the table. “What about the other thing?”
Elle rubbed at her eyes, just thinking about the other thing exhausted her. “We pull him in for questioning. God, Brady’s going to love this.”
“You and I both know he had nothing to do with it.”
She almost laughed at how absurd it was, but there was no mistaking it. The knife they’d found on the ground next to Stan’s cruiser, with the initials FA carved in to the handle, was her grandfather’s. The last time she’d seen it was in her underwear drawer after confiscating it from EJ. There was no doubt in her mind he’d taken it again.
“Can you do it?” Elle asked. “He’ll probably be less of a drama queen if I’m not there.”
Neil nodded. “I’ll do it as low key as possible.”
She reached across the table and squeezed Neil’s hand. She needed to feel the solid presence of him, needed to know he would still be there for her, even if it would take a while to build that trust again.