Traceless

by Debra Webb

  Ray ignored the rage flashing in Troy’s eyes. He’d cleaned up, but his nose was probably broken. He refused to go to the hospital. Keith, however, was almost too calm.

  “Now, I’m going to ask you this one more time,” Ray warned, hoping he’d get a straight answer. “Did either of you have anything to do with that fire or the vandalism? You both swore you had nothing to do with the vandalism and we found no evidence to the contrary, but I need to know. As a friend,” he tacked on. “No use wasting resources looking for perps if I’ve got ’em right here in front of me.”

  Troy’s mouth twisted with the words he no doubt wanted to hurl at Ray; then he relaxed visibly and spoke with amazing calm. “All right, I admit it. I busted up the bastard’s shit. But I didn’t start the goddamn fire. I’m just sorry as hell he didn’t burn in it.”

  Keith rested his head in his hands. “Dammit, Troy, what the hell are you thinking?”

  Ray exhaled a fraction of his frustration as he shook his head with utter exhaustion. “What about you, Keith? You have anything to do with any of this?”

  “I heard about the fire on the news—”

  “He’s a pussy,” Troy snarled. “He ain’t done shit. Trust me on that. What I wanna know is,” he bent down and flattened his palms on the table so he could glare directly at Ray, “are you gonna charge Austin for assault? We got plenty of witnesses. He went after Larry when your own deputies were attempting to load him into the squad car. Larry’s face is in worse shape than mine. That’s a parole violation.”

  “I figure you’re even.”

  “What?” Troy’s outrage overtook his good sense again. He reared back, his hands now clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re gonna just let him get away with this shit?”

  “As far as what he did to you and Medford, you were on his property. You goaded him into the incident.” Ray held up a hand when Troy would have started shouting again. “We’ll just call it even on the parole violation.”

  Before Troy could go off, Keith asked, “Even how?”

  “Since you guys got away with running Clint off the road and trashing his place, he’ll get by with assault. Any more questions?” Did they really think he wouldn’t hear about the incident on Highway 18? Guys like Troy, good guys at heart, couldn’t keep that kind of thing a secret.

  “This is not over,” Troy threatened.

  Ray got up, opened the door. “It is over. Now go. Before I change my mind and keep you overnight.” Violet was waiting to drive them both home. Ray looked each man in the eye as one then the other moved toward the door. “The law took care of the beef you have with Austin ten years ago, in case you haven’t noticed. Anything you do now is only going to hurt you and your families.”

  Troy banged his fist against the wall before storming out. Keith glanced at Ray, his gaze steeped with regret, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  Ray’d had enough. More than enough. This had to end.

  The fire at Clint’s house and keeping the peace was enough on Ray’s plate just now. He didn’t need Troy and his buddies acting up. The past was history. Over. There was nothing anyone could do to change it. No amount of digging around in it or pilfering through files would bring back Heather Baker. And it sure as hell wouldn’t give Clint his life back.

  What was done, was done.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Valley Inn Sunday, July 21, 8:00 A.M.

  Emily was going to Ray with her suspicions.

  Sidney Fairgate, if he could be trusted at all, had pretty much verified Clint’s alibi. The revelation forced her to understand just how significant this secret her father carried was. Just how life altering.

  Why would he let an innocent man go to prison?

  Her father wasn’t like that.

  Those unpleasant moments from last night kept elbowing into her thoughts. Reminding her that her parents and everyone else she’d ever cared about around this town were disappointed in her … had been hurt by her actions. And would only be hurt further by what she was about to do.

  But she had to do the right thing. Heather’s killer was out there somewhere. If Clint Austin was innocent, and it sure looked that way, he deserved to have his name cleared. The whole community deserved the truth.

  That Clint had gone after Larry Medford last night in Emily’s defense had made her remember more of those feelings she didn’t want to recall. The way he’d made her melt with just a look … before all the pain and tragedy. The way he moved, his smile, his voice, every single thing about him, had made her want him back then.

  Made her want him now.

  She couldn’t even close her eyes without that raging fire at his house haunting her. Without seeing his face as he watched everything in his world go up in flames. He’d suffered and she was more to blame than all the others put together.

  She almost didn’t notice the tap on her door.

  Before she even looked she knew who it wouldn’t be. Not any of her friends, because she no longer had any friends. Not her parents, because they had likely disowned her.

  Maybe one of her new friends, Fairgate or Austin?

  Emily adjusted her blouse, smoothed her skirt, and took a breath. Might as well get it over with.

  She checked the peephole. Her father. She drew back, wrenched the door open in one continuous action.

  “Dad? Is everything all right?”

  Her heart bumped her rib cage. The urge to cry came from nowhere. What if her mother was ill? What if it was Emily’s fault? God, she’d already hurt them so much. The air snagged in her raw throat. What if her brother had been in an accident?

  “I need to speak with you, Em.”

  The defeat in his voice and in his eyes, now that she looked, made her desperate to fix this whole mess somehow.

  “Come in.” She stepped back, to give him room to pass, then closed the door. That he carried her overnight bag registered. Was he bringing her things to her so she wouldn’t have a reason to come back home?

  “I thought you might need these.” He set the bag on the chair by the window.

  She managed a strained up-and-down motion of her head. “Thank you.”

  He was dressed for church, with his navy trousers and crisp white shirt and the striped tie her mother had most certainly selected. Ed Wallace could not coordinate colors to save his soul.

  “Ray called me this morning and told me what happened last night.”

  Emily winced inwardly. After Troy ranting at her right in their own front yard, hearing more of the same from Ray had to be hard to take. She was doing it again. Making her family miserable.

  Her father gestured helplessly as if he wasn’t sure how to proceed. “Between you going into that burning house and what Ray told me, your mother and I have—”

  “Dad,” she stopped him, “I’m really sorry—”

  He put his hand on her arm to quiet her. “I need to finish this. I’ve put it off too long in hopes of sparing you the fresh hurt.”

  The anguish on his face made her want to weep for all the damage she’d done. She was certain whatever her father had done he’d only done to protect her.

  “It was Homer Jenkins,” he began. “He was the one who recommended Fairgate to me.”

  The anticipation she’d expected to feel when her father finally gave her the truth was glaringly absent. She felt cold and afraid. She wanted to ask her father to sit down, but she didn’t dare move or speak for fear of somehow altering the momentum of the moment.

  “I had gotten into trouble that year,” he went on, his eyes distant as if he were reliving those days … mentally filtering through the events that had led up to his decision. “We would have lost everything. Going to Fairgate was my only option. So I took Homer’s advice.”

  A divorced, good-hearted man of about fifty at the time, Homer Jenkins had been the neighbor on Emily’s side of the house on Ivy Lane. It was his car that Clint Austin had insisted he’d been attempting to steal that night.

  Em
ily hated that her father had to relive that awful time … but she had to know. This terrible secret had been buried too long.

  “Fairgate lent me the money. At the time I was so glad, I didn’t consider how a man like him might want his repayment.” Her father’s white-clad shoulders lifted and fell listlessly. “It only mattered that we could hang on to our home for a while longer.

  “When it was time to repay him, the debt was four times what I had borrowed. I couldn’t pay all of it … not even after months of unparalleled investment returns. I simply didn’t have it. I went to him … that day … .”

  Emily felt herself wilting, unsure she could hold up beneath the weight of guilt growing heavier as what Sid Fairgate had told her was corroborated. What had they done?

  “I had half the money. Fairgate took it, told me what he would do if he didn’t get the other half in one week.” Her father stared at the floor a long, pulse-pounding moment. “One of his thugs called him to the door of his office, said it wouldn’t wait. I didn’t move. I was too afraid. I knew what Fairgate and his men were capable of. So I sat there. He went to the door behind me and had a conversation.”

  Emily braced for what came next, unsure she could bear to hear him say the words.

  “I didn’t see any of it,” he said, his eyes urgent now, needing her to understand. “I didn’t dare turn around, but I heard the exchange between him and Austin.” His voice wavered. “I heard him tell Austin to take Homer’s car that night.”

  She wanted to say something to comfort her father, but she couldn’t find the words.

  “After the … murder … I was so devastated I didn’t even think of the conversation. Fairgate and my problems with him were the farthest things from my mind. Once the police were gone that night, he sent for me. Two of his thugs came to the house while you and your mother were at the hospital. I had been about to go there myself. Your grandparents had picked up your brother.” The fleeting look he cast at Emily confirmed just how much he’d suffered with the weight of this secret.

  “They took me to Fairgate and he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” He drew in a heavy breath. “He gave me back the money I’d paid him already, minus half of the original loan, and said I didn’t owe him anything else. I knew then he was up to something no good. He didn’t want to be dragged into the investigation. Didn’t want the police nosing around in his business practices. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut about what I’d heard.”

  It was true. Every word. Her heart dropped into her stomach and quivered uselessly, leaving her aching all over.

  Edward Wallace squared his shoulders and met what he no doubt saw in her gaze with a challenge in his own. “I refused.”

  Hope welled, tightened in her chest.

  “I told him that he could forget it. I wasn’t about to break the law for him. And then he explained how things were going to be. I would keep my mouth shut and in return not only would the remainder of my debt be dismissed, but I wouldn’t have to bury my family.”

  Horror gripped Emily’s throat, but the words burst free: “He threatened to kill us?”

  “If I said a word,” her father confirmed, needing her to see what he’d been up against, the desperation spelled out across his face, “he said you would be the first to die. Then James, then your mother. What was I supposed to do?”

  Tears glittered in his eyes. “I told myself it wasn’t such a terrible thing. Just because Austin told the truth about his reason for being next door didn’t mean he was innocent of the charge against him.” His eyes sought agreement from Emily’s, if not forgiveness. “This doesn’t mean he was innocent, Em.”

  But it did.

  When she couldn’t confirm his assertion, he looked away.

  The realization that she and her father had sent an innocent man to prison changed something elemental inside her.

  “There was nothing else I could do, Em. You have to know that. I’ve lived with this guilt … ,” his voice caught, “ … but I had to believe I did the right thing … . It was the only way to live with what I’d done.”

  She did know. Somehow she did.

  “Daddy.” She laid her hand on his sleeve, felt the familiar freshness of starched cotton. “I know you did what you had to do. Now I have to do the same.”

  “I’m worried about your safety, honey. Surely if Austin had been innocent the police would have figured that out. But I’ll do what I should have done ten years ago; you have my word on that. Just don’t expect it to change anything.”

  Oh, but it did. It changed everything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  9:45 A.M.

  Clint sat down with his Styrofoam cup of coffee and considered his limited options for breakfast. Doughnut or candy bar. He’d made a trip to the Sack&Go for something to fill his gut, but he hadn’t spent much time on choices since folks were coming through on their way to church. He didn’t want to endure the way they looked at him. He’d thought he could tolerate it, that nothing could touch him after what he’d been through at Holman, but he’d been wrong.

  They could touch him, just like Ray said.

  Clint swallowed a slug of coffee and banished the thoughts. He’d get through this. Giving up now was out of the question.

  Moving on to the case files would put him on the right track. Someone was definitely getting nervous. Clint had always known that Heather had been the intended victim. He’d watched Emily too closely not to have been aware of any threat to her. He’d wanted her something fierce. Now he’d caused her to be hurt … again.

  All those years locked in a cell Clint had lived for this opportunity.

  The determined fury that usually zeroed in on Emily Wallace wouldn’t stay focused on her. If he could just get her to look past his guilt, to think about the days and weeks before Heather’s murder, she had to know who had it in for her best friend. Who had Heather been at odds with at the time? Who was jealous of her or would have wanted her out of the way?

  There had to have been clues leading up to what happened. The way she had been murdered spoke of revenge … jealousy, not a mere random act. That was the very detail the DA had used against Clint.

  Only it hadn’t been him.

  He glanced around the barn. His mother had kept his car out here, to protect it from the elements. And the old truck. He couldn’t believe that old pickup was still out here. A 1964 light green Ford, a little banged up and seriously faded. He’d learned to drive in that old thing. The memory of his mother’s patience made him ache with sadness. He’d lost her house … all her things. Now this old barn was all he had left in the way of a roof over his head. All he had left of her.

  He’d gone to Wal-Mart and gotten a couple of sleeping bags. There wasn’t any electricity, so lights and cooking were out unless he wanted to go the campfire route. He’d had enough smoke and fire for a while.

  But there had been one unexpected turn of events. An insurance representative had dropped by on his way to church this morning and told Clint that his house was covered and temporary housing would be provided within forty-eight hours. His mother had set up automatic payments for the insurance and the taxes from her bank account. Clint hadn’t even realized she had an active bank account. He doubted there was much, if any, money left. He’d have to look into that in a few days. Mainly he was just astounded that the guy from the insurance company would even bother to let him know. Maybe there were still a few good folks left. He damn sure hadn’t expected to find any in this town.

  The sound of a car door closing put him on alert. He set his coffee aside and stood. Probably Ray, dropping by to see if he needed anything or maybe to arrest him for beating the hell out of Baker and Medford last night.

  Not Ray.

  The car parked in Clint’s driveway, next to the remains of his mother’s house, was Emily’s.

  What was she doing here? The idea that she wasn’t at church with her folks surprised him. She’d always gone to church before, good little girl that she was
. Too good for him.

  She got out of her car and looked around; the uncertainty in her movements made him want to stay in the shadows of the barn and just watch. He doubted she would come out here. She would look around the yard, take a few steps from the driveway, maybe call his name, and then she’d leave.

  If he was smart, he’d let that course play out.

  Evidently he wasn’t so smart. He stepped out of the shadows, let her see him. Some part of him was drawn to her that way, always had been.

  Her gaze collided with his and he felt that connection as surely as if he’d grabbed hold of a live wire. Clint steeled himself. Judging by the fragile expression on her face, he wasn’t sure he could deal with whatever she had to say.

  Even he had his limits, or so he’d learned recently.

  “I need to ask you a question.”

  No hello, no good morning, just straight to the point. The stupid side of his brain that had deep down hoped she’d come to tell him that she’d been wrong all along sent a ripple of disappointment through him.

  Clint called upon every ounce of the hard, bitter strength he’d found doing ten years in prison. “So ask.” His voice was sharp and challenging. He couldn’t afford to feel these crazy emotions.

  “Will you tell me the whole truth about what happened that night? Don’t leave anything out.”

  She had to be kidding. “What’s the point?” That she would even ask annoyed him unreasonably.

  “I need to know.”

  The pain in her eyes told him she wasn’t playing.

  He gestured to the interior of the barn behind him. “You’ll want to sit down for this.”

  She didn’t argue, just followed him into the shadows of the barn and took the seat he offered. The notion that he’d slept right where she was sitting distracted him briefly.

  He couldn’t sit and talk about that night. So he stood, rolled his rigid shoulders to relax them, and decided the abbreviated version was the best route to take. “Fairgate told me to take Jenkins’ car for leverage. I waited until dark, dressed to fit in, and went to do my job.” He pressed her with a look that showed he didn’t care if she judged him. “It was what I did, and I did it well.”