My Sister's Grave

by Robert Dugoni

  She waved him off. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

  “Hey, come on, now. What about that good for the goose thing? Wasn’t your dream to become a teacher at Cedar Grove High and raise your kids here?”

  “Don’t make fun.”

  He scoffed. “Hey, I live here now. And that’s what you always said, you were going to teach, and you and Sarah were going to live next door to each other.”

  “I did teach, for a year.”

  “Cedar Grove High?”

  “The Fighting Wolverines,” she said and made claws with her hands.

  “Let me guess, chemistry?”

  Tracy nodded. “Very good.”

  “God, you were such a nerd,” he said.

  She displayed mocked indignity. “I was a nerd? What about you?”

  “I was a dork. Nerds are smart. There’s a subtle distinction. And are you married, with kids?”

  “Divorced,” she said, “No kids.”

  “I hope it ended better than mine.”

  “I doubt it, but at least mine was short. He felt like I was cheating on him.”

  “Felt like?”

  “With Sarah.”

  Dan gave her a quizzical look.

  Sensing the timing to be right, Tracy said, “I left teaching and joined the police academy, Dan. I investigated Sarah’s murder for more than ten years.”

  “Oh,” he said.

  She reached into her briefcase and pulled out the file she’d brought with her, setting it on the table. “I have Bekins boxes filled with witness statements, trial transcripts, police reports, evidence reports, everything. What I didn’t have was forensics from a grave site. Now I do.”

  “I don’t understand. They convicted someone, didn’t they?”

  “Edmund House,” she said, “a paroled rapist living with an uncle in the mountains outside of town. House was the low-hanging fruit, Dan. He’d spent six years at Walla Walla after pleading guilty to having sex with a sixteen-year-old high school student when he was eighteen. He was initially charged with first-degree rape, kidnapping, and assault, but a legal question arose over the admissibility of certain evidence found in a shed on the property where he’d kept her against her will.”

  “No warrant?”

  “The court held that the shed was an extension of the home and the police needed a search warrant. The evidence was tainted and a judge ruled it inadmissible. The prosecutor said he had no choice but to offer the plea. After Sarah disappeared, Calloway targeted House from the start, but he didn’t have any hard evidence to dispute House’s alibi he was at home sleeping the night Sarah disappeared. His uncle was working a graveyard at the mill.”

  “So what changed?” Dan asked.

  Seven weeks had passed since Sarah’s disappearance when Tracy answered the door to find Roy Calloway outside, looking anxious.

  “I need to speak to your father,” he said, stepping past Tracy and knocking on the panel doors to James Crosswhite’s office. When he got no answer, Calloway slid the doors apart. Her father lifted his head from his desk, eyes bloodshot and bleary. Tracy stepped in and removed the open bottle of Scotch and a glass from his desk.

  “Roy’s here, Dad.”

  Her father took a moment to put on his glasses, squinting at the sharp light filtering in the leaded-glass window. He had not shaved in days. His hair was disheveled and had grown well past the collar of his button-down shirt, which was wrinkled and stained. “What time is it?”

  “We have a possible development,” Calloway said. “A witness.”

  Her father stood, stumbled, and braced a hand on the desk to regain his balance. “Who?”

  “A salesman driving back to Seattle the night Sarah disappeared.”

  “He saw her?” James Crosswhite asked.

  “He recalls a red truck on the county road. A Chevy stepside. He also recalls a blue truck parked along the shoulder.”

  “Why didn’t he come forward earlier?” Tracy asked. The tip line had long been disbanded.

  “He didn’t know. He travels twenty-five days out of the month. The trips blur together. He said he recently saw a newscast about the investigation, and it triggered his memory. He called the police station to make a report.”

  Tracy shook her head. She’d followed every newscast for seven weeks and had not seen anything recently. “What newscast?”

  Calloway gave her a quick glance. “Just a story on the news.”

  “What channel?”

  “Tracy, please.” Her father raised his hand, cutting her off. “It should be enough, shouldn’t it? It puts his alibi in question.”

  “Vance is renewing his request for warrants to search the property and the truck. The Washington State Patrol Crime Lab has a team on standby in Seattle.”

  “How soon will we know?” her father asked.

  “Within the hour.”

  “How could he have not known before?” Tracy asked. “It’s been all over the local news. We posted fliers. Didn’t he see the billboards offering the ten-thousand-dollar reward?”

  “He travels,” Calloway said. “He hasn’t been home.”

  “For seven weeks?” She turned to her father. “This doesn’t make sense. He’s probably just after the money.” Her father and some others in the town had offered a $10,000 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of whoever had taken Sarah.

  “Tracy, go home and wait there.” Her father had never referred to the house she’d rented when she took the job teaching at Cedar Grove High as her home. “I’ll call you when we know more.”

  “No, Dad, I don’t want to go. I want to stay.”

  He steered her to the panel doors. She could tell by the firmness of his grip that his decision was not debatable. “I’ll call as soon as I know anything,” he said, and then slid the doors closed behind her. She heard the lock click shut.

  CHAPTER 18

  Tracy handed Dan a copy of Ryan Hagen’s witness statement. “It busted House’s alibi.”

  Dan put on a pair of cheaters to read the statement. “You sound skeptical.”

  “The cross-examination by House’s attorney was less than stellar. No one ever asked Hagen for details about the newscast or to produce any receipts. Salesmen don’t spend their own money. If Hagen had stopped to eat and to fill the tank, as he testified, he would have had a receipt. I didn’t find one.”

  Dan looked up from the report, eyeing her over the cheaters. “But this guy’s recollection was enough to get the ball rolling.”

  “Enough for the county prosecutor to get Judge Sullivan to issue search warrants for the uncle’s home and truck.”

  “And they found something?”

  “Hair and blood. And Calloway testified that when he confronted House with the evidence, House changed his story and said he’d picked up Sarah walking along the side of the road, drove her into the mountains, raped and strangled her, and then immediately buried her body.”

  “Then why didn’t they find it?”

  “Calloway said House refused to tell them where he’d buried Sarah without a deal, and that they’d never be able to convict him without a body.”

  Dan lowered the statement. “Wait, I’m confused. If he confessed, what kind of deal could he hope to get?”

  “Good question. House denied confessing at the trial.”

  Dan shook his head as if having trouble following her. “Didn’t Calloway record it? Didn’t he get a signed statement?”

  “No. He said House just blurted out the information to taunt him and then refused to repeat it.”

  “And House denied saying it at trial?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So you’re telling me that his attorney put him on the stand when the prosecution’s case was circumstantial and they had no forensics from a crime scene?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you.”

  “How did House explain the hair and blood?”

  “He said it was planted by someo
ne trying to frame him.”

  Dan scoffed. “Sure they did—the last defense of the guilty.”

  Tracy shrugged.

  “You believe him?”

  “House went away for life and Cedar Grove was supposed to get a chance to heal. It never did. Not me. Not my family. No one.”

  “You have doubts.”

  “Twenty years’ worth.” She slid another file across the table. “Will you take a look?”

  Dan ran a finger along his upper lip. “What are you hoping to find?”

  “Just an objective opinion.”

  Dan did not immediately answer. He also didn’t take the file. Then he said, “Okay. I’ll take a look.”

  She removed her checkbook and a pen from her handbag. “You said you have a fifteen-hundred-dollar retainer?”

  He reached across the table and gently touched her hand. It surprised her, as did the fact that his hand was rough, though his fingers were long and sinewy. “I don’t charge my friends, Tracy.”

  “I can’t ask you to work for free, Dan.”

  “And I can’t take your money. So if you want my opinion, you need to put your checkbook away. Wow, I’ll bet no attorney has ever uttered those words before.”

  She laughed. “Can I pay you with something else?”

  “Dinner,” he said. “I know a good place.”

  “In Cedar Grove?”

  “Cedar Grove still holds a few surprises. Trust me.”

  “Isn’t that what every lawyer says?”

  Tracy left First National Bank and looked up at the bay window cantilevered over the sidewalk. She’d never shared the contents of her investigation with anyone before. There’d been no need, not without forensics from the grave. Until then, all she’d had was an unsupported hypothesis. Kelly Rosa’s revelations had changed that.

  “Tracy?” Sunnie Witherspoon stood beside a parked van, keys in one hand, a plastic bag from a hardware store in the other.

  “Sunnie.”

  Sunnie stepped onto the sidewalk. She wore slacks, a blouse, and sweater. Her hair was styled and her makeup heavy. “I thought you’d left.”

  “I had a few loose ends to take care of. I was actually just heading out.”

  “Do you have time for coffee?” Sunnie asked.

  Tracy wasn’t looking for a long trip down memory lane. “It looks like you’re dressed up to go someplace.”

  “No,” Sunnie said. “I just needed to run an errand at the hardware store for Gary.” An awkward pause followed.

  With no easy retreat, Tracy relented. “Is there a place?”

  They walked across the street to The Daily Perk, ordered coffee, and sat at a table outside that wobbled when Tracy set her mug down. So much for her doctor’s orders that Tracy cut down on her caffeine intake.

  Sunnie sat across the table, smiling. “It’s so strange seeing you here. I mean, I’m sorry that you are, the reason, but it’s so good. It was a nice service.”

  “Thanks for being there.”

  “Everything changed, didn’t it?”

  Sunnie had caught Tracy in midsip of her coffee. She swallowed and set down her cup. “I’m sorry?”

  “After Sarah died, everything kind of changed.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Though I’m still here.” Sunnie’s smile had a sad quality to it. “I’ll never leave.” She looked indecisive. Then she said, “You haven’t made it to any of the reunions.”

  “Not really my thing.”

  “It’s just that people ask about you, and they still talk about what happened.”

  “I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, Sunnie.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. We don’t have to talk about it. Let’s talk about something else.”

  But Tracy knew talking about what had happened to Sarah and its aftermath was exactly why Sunnie wanted to have coffee. It wasn’t to allow two old friends to catch up. It was for the same reason so many had come to a service for a family that had, for all intents and purposes, departed Cedar Grove twenty years earlier. And it wasn’t just because Roy Calloway had gotten the word out. The search for Sarah and the trial had given them all something to focus their attention on, but it had not brought back Sarah. It had not brought closure to Sunnie or anyone else still living in Cedar Grove, any more than it had brought closure to Tracy or her parents. Now, sitting across from a person who at one time had been someone Tracy had entrusted with her deepest teenage thoughts and secrets, Tracy couldn’t bring herself to tell Sunnie that they might be about to relive that nightmare all over again.

  CHAPTER 19

  Tracy killed the engine and let her truck roll to a silent stop. She scanned the darkened street before exiting to the ambient light from a full moon. A year after the trial and she still searched for shadows lurking behind trees and seeping out from behind bushes. As children, Tracy and Sarah had called these unseen horrors bogeymen. Back then, they had been made-up monsters conjured by the vivid imaginations of two sisters. Now they were frighteningly real.

  She climbed the porch steps and fit her key into the deadbolt. It turned with a snap that made her pause and listen for sounds inside the house. Not hearing anything, she pressed her shoulder to the door and applied pressure. The wood expanded in the winter and that had caused the door to stick in the jamb. When Tracy felt the door slide free of the threshold, she pushed the door open and stepped quietly inside.

  The light came on, startling her. She dropped her keys.

  “Jesus. You scared me,” she said.

  Ben sat in the recliner dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. “I scared you? You’re coming home at this hour, no phone call, no note, and I scared you?”

  “I meant I didn’t see you sitting there. Why were you sitting in the dark? Why do you have all your clothes on?”

  “You didn’t see me because you weren’t home. Where were you, Tracy?”

  “I was working.”

  “At one in the morning?”

  “You know what I meant; I was working on Sarah’s case.”

  “What a surprise.”

  “I’m tired,” she said, not wanting to get into the debate again.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  She spoke over her shoulder as she walked from the room. “Yes, I did.”

  “No. You told me what you were doing. I asked where you were.”

  “It’s late, Ben. Let’s talk in the morning.”

  “I’ll be gone in the morning.” She stepped back into the room. Ben had stood and she noticed that he was also wearing his work boots. “I’m leaving. I can’t live like this.”

  She stepped toward him. “It’s not going to always be like this, Ben. I just need more time.”

  “How long is it going to take, Tracy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And there lies the problem.”

  “Ben—”

  “I know where you were.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Move on, Tracy. That’s what people do.”

  “My sister was murdered.”

  “I was here, remember? I’ve been here, every single day. I sat by your side every day of the trial and I sat through the sentencing. You just haven’t noticed.”

  She took a few more steps toward him. “Is that what this is about? You want my attention?”

  “I’m your husband, Tracy.”

  “And you should support me.”

  He started for the door. “I was going to leave in the morning. My truck is packed. I think it’s better that I leave now, before either of us says something we’ll regret.”

  “Ben, it’s late. Wait until the morning. We can talk this through.”

  He gripped the doorknob. “What did he tell you?”

  “What?”

  “What did Edmund House tell you?”

  He’d followed her to the prison. “I asked him about the case. I asked him about what Chief Calloway said about him confessing tha
t he’d killed Sarah. I asked him about the jewelry.”

  “Did you ask him if he killed her?”

  “He didn’t kill her, Ben. The evidence—”

  “A jury convicted him, Tracy. A jury considered the evidence and convicted him. Why isn’t that enough?”

  “Because the evidence is wrong. I know it.”

  “And is that going to change by morning? Is there anything more I can say that will get you to stop this?”

  She touched the sleeve of his shirt. “Don’t make me choose, Ben. Please don’t make me choose between you and my sister.”

  “I never would have done that to you. You did that on your own.” He pulled open the door and stepped out.

  Tracy followed him onto the porch, suddenly afraid. “I love you, Ben. I don’t have anyone else but you.”

  He stopped. After a moment, he turned to face her. “Yeah, you do. And until you put them both to rest, there’s no room for me. There’s no room for anyone.”

  She hurried toward him, holding him. “Ben, please. We can work this out.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Then come with me.”

  “What?”

  “We can pack your things in an hour. Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “Away from here.”

  “But my mother and father—”

  “They want nothing to do with me, Tracy. I’m the reason you left Sarah alone that night. I’m the reason she’s dead. They won’t even talk to me. They hardly talk to you anymore. There’s nothing here.”

  She stepped back. “I can’t, Ben.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Tears pooled in his eyes. “A part of me will always love you, Tracy. That’s the pain I’m going to have to get over. I can’t do it living here. You have your own pain to get through, and I don’t think you can do it here either, but you’re going to have to figure that out on your own.”

  He climbed into the truck cab and shut the door. For a moment, she thought he might reconsider, that he might open the door and get out, come back to her. Then he started the engine, gave her one final glance, and backed out of the driveway, leaving her alone.