But someone came in behind her. Someone soft, who smelled good. She gathered Julia up and held her, and suddenly it was no shame to cry.
20
They found Shelby Townsend’s body on Christmas Day in the woods a couple of miles from her home. She was lying faceup, fully clothed, including shoes, and her eyes were missing.
It was a strange, grim sight in an otherwise normal facade. As Abe bent to examine the rest of the body, he heard the sound of retching behind him. Burgess was bent over, and the other deputy, Morris, looked like he was about to join him.
“Keep everyone, especially Lewis, away,” he ordered Morris, referring to Shelby’s brother-in-law, who had been with the search party. Looked like Burgess needed a distraction, too. “Nate!” Abe snapped. “Get the ME out here. Then set up a perimeter. Move!”
His deputies scurried to carry out his orders, and Abe knelt beside the body. Other than the jagged black holes that had once been eyes, there were no visible wounds, no ligature marks on her neck, no bruises on her legs or arms. She hadn’t been roughed up first. And, given the surprising lack of blood, particularly around the sockets, she may even have been spared the horror of being sentient while the murderer worked. But if the extraction didn’t kill her, what did?
She did seem unusually pale.
That could be explained by the fact that she was faceup, which meant her body’s blood should have settled at her back. But when he lifted one side of her to check, there was no darkening of the skin there.
Had she been killed somewhere else and dumped here? The lack of blood made it seem likely.
Rigor was still present, so she’d been dead for at least thirty-six hours. The ME would give him an exact time, but Lewis said his wife had spoken to Shelby around noon yesterday, so that cut the murder window to within the last twenty hours or so.
Abe sat back on his heels. He already had someone with a clear motive sitting in his jail. Mitch admitted being at Shelby’s house around three-thirty. If he did kill her, it was within that window.
But could he have killed her and moved her?
And if he did kill her, how?
The answer came within a few hours of the medical examiner taking control of the body. It came faster than expected, because one of the crucial forensic ingredients was almost entirely missing from the body.
Shelby Townsend had been drained of blood.
21
Because of the holiday, the New York Police Department took its time about sending a detective. Which, as it turned out, worked to Carson County and Abe Marfield’s advantage. Once Shelby had been found, the chief was no longer as eager to get rid of Mitchell Turner. Instead, he asked the court to waive extradition and keep Mitch right where he was. That set up a legal fight between the two jurisdictions, which could take months, if not years, to settle. NYPD kept their guys home, and in the meantime, Abe continued building a case against Mitch for Shelby’s murder.
First, he made sure Mitch was secure for the long haul. The Crossroads jail wasn’t intended for lengthy stays, so on the twenty-sixth, Mitch was transferred to county.
The day began with a snowstorm. Tennessee didn’t get a lot of snow, and they weren’t prepared for it. The county owned neither snowplows nor snow tires, so Abe decided to wait and see if the weather improved. Channel 3 was predicting storms all day, but by two the sun was out and the snow melting, and it looked like they could make the county seat by four. He got Mitch ready for transport, shackling his hands and feet and putting him in the back of a police van.
Mitch went in docile enough. No use making a fuss because this was going to happen one way or another. But he had to keep constant rein on his thoughts or they would take him down a spiral so deep he didn’t know if he’d ever get out again.
He hadn’t seen Julia. After they found Shelby Townsend, everything hardened, and his lawyer was the only visitor he was allowed. Hannah told him Julia was fine, but the fear that she was coming to despise him grew. It was hard to believe he’d ever see her again, and if he did, that she would ever look at him the same way.
And yet what he did and why he did it was as important now as it was eleven years ago. Only this time he’d be far away and powerless to prevent the disaster he knew would come.
The chief had said it would take close to three hours to reach county. Hannah had told him what to expect when he did. The shower, the antilice spray. The mouth search.
It was cold, and the roads must have been slick. The driver—Nate Burgess—probably wasn’t very familiar with navigating over snow and ice, because the van slid more than once. An hour out of Crossroads, they skidded again, only this time it felt like a runaway sled on ice. Mitch was jerked one way and then another.
“Steer into the skid!” Mitch shouted through the wall of perforated steel that separated him from the driver.
But like most inexperienced snow drivers, Burgess jerked the wheel away from the slide, and the van careened over the ice, spun, hit something, and flew into the air.
That’s the last thing Mitch remembered until he came to. He was hanging upside down, imprisoned in his seat belt.
“Burgess!” Mitch called. “Burgess, you all right?”
No answer.
Mitch tried shifting in his seat, let out a cry of pain. Something had happened to his ribs. He waited for the throbbing to pass, then tried again.
It took him forever to maneuver himself out of the belt, and when he finally freed himself, he fell abruptly, smacking his ribs and knocking the life out of him. All that time, Burgess had said nothing.
He managed to get the van door open and slither out. It was already dark, so he knew it was after four, and his hands and legs were still shackled. He hobbled to the front and opened Burgess’s door. The deputy’s head was a bloody mess, but he had a pulse.
“Hang in there,” Mitch said.
With his cuffed hands, it took a frustrating ten minutes to detach the keys from the deputy’s belt. When he freed them, they fell to the ground and then he had to fish around for them. He finally got enough purchase on the ring, and using his teeth, unlocked his hands, then bent to free his legs. The position felt like he’d stuck a knife in himself. Breathing like a son of a bitch, he changed his angle and tried again. Finally, he got the shackles off, leaned back against the van, and took in some low, shallow breaths.
Jesus.
Moving was so painful he thought about staying right where he was until the county sent someone to look for them. But after a few seconds’ rest, he gritted his teeth, found a flashlight on Burgess’s belt, and used it to look around. He had no idea where they were. But he was going to need a lot more than a flashlight to make it through the night. He unbuckled the officer’s utility belt and slung it over his shoulder. He wasn’t big on firearms, but he took the deputy’s anyway. A storage compartment revealed a blanket and an oilskin. He wrapped both around himself.
Another rest, another series of short, shallow breaths. Before he left, he tried the radio but couldn’t get it to work, and there was no signal on Burgess’s cell. Mitch almost took the phone, but he had a decade-long fear of phones being used to trace his whereabouts. Besides, if the weather improved, the signal might, too, and Burgess might need it. In the end, he left it where the deputy could reach it.
He closed the van door, staring at the man inside.
“Fuck,” he said out loud.
Then he shrugged off the slicker and the blanket and draped them over Burgess. Mitch missed the extra heat but figured he’d make it up through exertion.
It would have been easy to follow the road, but that would have made it easy for the cops, too. So he decided to head into the woods. By that time, it was full dark. A cloud wall hid whatever moon there was, and without the flashlight, he wouldn’t have been able to see more than a few inches in front of him. But he did have the flashlight as well as a feeling that the universe was with him. Why else engineer his escape? Gingerly, he took a single step and then another
, found a rhythm where the pain was at a low throb, and set off.
22
When the weatherman predicted snow, folks in Tennessee acted like the end times were coming. Schools closed, factories let out early. Everyone raced to the Piggly Wiggly, and if you didn’t get there early enough, all the milk and bread and bottled water would be gone. Half the time, the snow lasted only a day. The other half, the prediction never came true at all, and everyone ended up making tubs full of corn chowder and bread pudding.
The day they transported Mitch to county, Neesy made the ritual trip to the grocery store; she and Julia were set whatever the weather tried to do.
She’d decided not to tell Julia about the prison transfer. The child had had the god-awfullest Christmas, and Neesy didn’t want to add to the mess. Not until she had to. So when the weather broke later in the day, she suggested they make hot chocolate. It would give Julia something to do, and it used up part of that load of milk Neesy had bought.
The knock on the front door came just as she and Julia were gathering what they needed to make the concoction. They weren’t making cocoa, mind you, but the “real” kind, as Julia put it. For that, she said they needed a double boiler. Which meant scouring every cabinet and cubbyhole looking for one.
“I think we’re going to have to make our own,” Neesy said when they heard the knock.
Julia immediately stopped rattling the cookware and shot a worried glance at Neesy. They’d had a few visitors in the time Julia had stayed there—Hannah Blunt, for one, Loritta, for another—and each time Julia had stilled and tensed until whoever was behind the door showed herself to be harmless.
Neesy flashed the girl an encouraging smile and gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s probably just Mrs. Tilden from down the road. She always brings me a fruitcake for Christmas.”
“A fruitcake?”
“Oh, my God, child. Don’t tell me you’ve never had fruitcake before? Well, you are in for a treat.” Neesy crossed her eyes and stuck a finger in her open mouth in the time-honored gesture used for anything nauseating.
Julia giggled, which was what Neesy was aiming for. She rose. “Go on, see if you can find the darn thing. I’ll be right back.”
But Mrs. Tilden wasn’t at the door. Instead, the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen outside a movie screen stood there. He was tall and lean and wore a black wool overcoat that was the exact color of his hair. And his eyes—bluer than any Neesy had seen, except for one other pair.
“Denise Brown?” he said.
She looked over his shoulder. A long black limo was parked at the curb. “Uh…” For half a second, she thought it was the Prize Patrol coming to give her a million dollars.
“I’m Dutch Hanover.”
It took a minute for the name to register. When it did, the realization came with a wallop. Neesy stepped outside and closed the front door, crossing her arms over her chest against the cool December air.
“You’re Mitch’s brother,” she said.
“More importantly, I’m Julia’s father,” he said smoothly. “I’ve come for her.”
Neesy wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “Excuse me? You’ve come for… what?”
His smile was friendly and patient, but there was determination behind those blue eyes—Julia’s blue eyes. “I have a court order.” He handed Neesy a document from a leather wallet that looked like it cost half a year’s wages. She scanned the official words with its authoritatively scrawled signatures.
“Look”—she handed the paper back to him—“Mitch left Julia with me. He trusted me. I can’t just let her take off with a stranger.”
“You don’t have a choice. And I’m not a stranger. I’m her father.”
“You’re a stranger to me. And to her.”
“Only because she’s been kept from me all her life.” The steel behind those eyes hardened. “Look, can I come in?” Suddenly his expression changed. He smiled, and that smile was a killer. His face had been handsome before, but now it was a thing of pure beauty. Neesy found herself gaping. In fact, she almost opened the door for him. But at the last minute, she remembered who was inside.
“I… I don’t think so. I don’t want to upset Julia. Wait here while I make some phone calls.”
“There’s no need—”
But she’d already stepped into the house and closed the door on him. And locked it.
Her heart was thudding and her mouth dry.
“Was it the fruitcake?” Julia called from the kitchen.
“Someone looking for a handout,” Neesy called back to her, praying she’d stay in the kitchen.
“I found the double boiler,” Julia said.
“Great. I’ll be right there.” But she found her purse and her cell phone and took it into the bedroom instead. She closed the door, leaned against the far wall, and punched in Hannah Blunt’s number.
The receptionist at the office said Hannah was busy.
“I don’t care if she’s getting the Nobel Peace Prize,” Neesy hissed into the phone, one eye on the closed door and the other peeking through the edge of the blinds at Dutch Hanover, who was sitting in one of the rockers on the front porch, no longer smiling and looking seriously put out. “This is life or death.”
When she came on the phone, Hannah was equally annoyed. “What is it?” she barked. “I’m in the middle of a deposition, and—”
“Dutch Hanover is here.”
“Who?”
“Dutch Hanover. Mitch’s brother? Julia’s… you know, her father. He’s got a piece of paper with signatures and everything, and it says he can take her away, but Mitch left her with me, and she’s making hot chocolate, and I don’t know what to do.”
“First of all, calm down.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
“Take a breath, for one. Now, start at the beginning.”
Neesy breathed, then recounted everything. “How do I even know this paper he’s got is genuine?”
“I’m sure Dutch Hanover doesn’t need to traffic in false documents. He’s her father. Of course he wants her back. The man’s been looking for Julia for eleven years.”
“What kind of father just shows up like that? He should have called, let me talk to Julia first… something.”
“Yes, well, he didn’t.”
“And I’m just supposed to let her go?”
There was a rush of sound on Hannah’s end, like she’d pushed back her chair and was clearing papers off her desk. “Look, I’m coming over. I’ll check the documents and make sure everything is in order. Would that help?”
“Can you talk him into leaving her here until she gets used to the idea?”
“I can try. But you’d better start preparing Julia.”
Bleakly, Neesy disconnected the call and made her way slowly to the kitchen. Julia had set up the pot and was waiting for the water in the bottom section to heat.
“See?” she said proudly. “It was all the way in the back in the corner cabinet.”
“Turn off the stove, sugar. I want to talk to you.”
“We can talk while we’re having hot chocolate.”
“This isn’t a hot chocolate kind of talk.”
Immediately, Julia sobered. That worried look came over her face again. “What happened? Is it my dad? Is he okay?”
Neesy wanted to sink into the floor. “It’s… it’s not about Mitch. But it is about your… your dad.”
Julia looked confused, and Neesy could hardly blame her. She was making a hash of this. She dragged a chair out from her mama’s ancient dinette table, sat down, and patted her lap. “Set yourself down, girl. Come on, now, so we can get cozy.”
“I don’t want to get cozy. I want to know what happened.”
“Do it for me. I’ll feel better with my arms around you.”
Julia complied, but her body was stiff against Neesy’s. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Well, I don’t know about that. It could be good. It could be real good.” She
stroked Julia’s silky black hair. The similarity in color to the man’s on the porch hadn’t gone unnoticed. “You know that Mitch… Well, Mitch isn’t really your daddy.”
Julia pulled away. “He is, too!”
“He’s the one who raised you, but the one who made you… well, that’s someone else. His name is Dutch. Dutch Hanover. Do you ever think about him?”
Julia was all scrunched up and frowning. One hand drew an invisible picture on the edge of the dinette, and all her energy seemed focused on that. Without looking at Neesy, she gave a reluctant shrug. “Sometimes.”
“Well he thinks about you. You’re his baby girl, you see, and he’s been looking for you a long time. And now he knows where you are, and he wants to meet you. What do you say? That be okay?”
“I don’t know. I guess. Someday.”
“Well, someday is today because he’s right outside.”
The child looked up from the table, an alarmed expression on her face. “Now?”
“Isn’t that great?” Neesy tried to put as much cheer as possible into her voice. “He’s come all the way from… well, goodness, I guess from New York. All that way just to see you.”
Julia looked at Neesy like a trapped rabbit. “I don’t want to.”
Neesy’s heart sank. “Not even for a couple of minutes?”
In answer, Julia ran out of the kitchen, and Neesy heard the bedroom door slam just as someone knocked on the front door.
Jesus H. Lord Almighty, that went well.
She unlocked the door and found Hannah Blunt outside with Dutch Hanover. She was already handing back that leather wallet. Without asking, the lawyer barged in, and, of course, Dutch followed.
“The papers are in order,” Hannah said to Neesy. “I’m sorry, but Julia will have to go.”
Neesy turned to Dutch. It was funny how he changed the room just by being in it. Made it more glamorous or more… something. “Maybe you can come back? Give her a couple of days. Let her get used to the idea.”
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