My Sister's Grave

by Robert Dugoni

  Dan took Calloway through the execution of the search warrants. “And what did James Crosswhite tell you when you showed him the earrings?”

  “He positively identified them as belonging to Sarah.”

  “Did he tell you how he could be so certain?”

  “He said he’d given Sarah the earrings as a gift when she won the Washington State Shooting Championship the prior year.”

  “Did you confront Edmund House with this new evidence?”

  “He called it ‘bullshit.’ ” Calloway looked past Dan to where House sat. “He leaned across the table and smiled at me. Then he said he hadn’t driven Sarah home. He said he’d driven her into the foothills, raped her, strangled her, and buried her body. He laughed. He said without a body we’d never convict him. He laughed about it like it was one big game.”

  The crowd stirred.

  “And you have this confession on tape?”

  Calloway bit his lower lip. “No.”

  “After the first confession, weren’t you better prepared?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Just one more question, Sheriff.” Dan used a remote control to display a blowup of the topographical map of the area above Cedar Grove on the flat-screen television. “I wonder if you’d note on this map where it was that Sarah’s remains were recently found.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Later in the afternoon, after Clark’s attempt to rehabilitate Calloway, and with a black X on the topographical map to mark the spot where the hunter’s dog had found Sarah’s remains drawing the attention of the gallery, Calloway stepped down from the witness stand. Dan had told Tracy his intent was to follow Calloway with a series of witnesses whose testimony he anticipated to be brief. He wanted to avoid having the inconsistencies between Calloway’s current testimony and his trial testimony become lost in too many details. Dan wanted Meyers thinking about them overnight.

  Dan called Parker House. Parker looked as uncomfortable now as Tracy recalled from the trial. He left his jacket in the pew and took the oath to tell the truth in a wrinkled, short-sleeved white shirt. When he sat, he absentmindedly picked at the hair on his arm, and the heel of his right boot shook to a silent beat.

  “You were working the graveyard?” Dan asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “What time did you get home?”

  “Wasn’t till late. I’d say ten that morning.”

  “That’s what you testified to during the trial.”

  “Then that’s probably right.”

  “What time did your shift at the mill end?”

  “That would have been right around eight.”

  “What did you do between the time your shift ended and the time you arrived home?”

  Parker shifted in his chair and glanced at the faces in the gallery, though not at his nephew. “Went out for a few drinks.”

  “How many is a few?”

  Parker shrugged. “I don’t recall.”

  “You testified at trial that you had three beers and a shot of whiskey.”

  “Then that’s probably right.”

  “Do you recall the name of the bar?”

  Parker was starting to look like a man with a bad back trying to get comfortable in the chair. Clark took the opportunity to stand and object. “Your Honor, none of this is relevant, and it is clearly making the witness uncomfortable. If the counsel’s intent is only to embarrass . . .”

  “Not at all, Your Honor,” Dan said. “Just trying to establish if the witness was competent to assess what he claims to have seen when he arrived home that morning.”

  “I’ll allow it,” Meyers said. “But make it quick.”

  “I don’t recall the bar,” Parker said, which was plausible after twenty years. But he had also claimed to not recall the name of the bar during the trial, which, given that there weren’t many in the small towns, seemed less plausible. But Vance Clark had not pressed him on it. Nor had DeAngelo Finn.

  “And when you got home, where was Edmund?”

  “Sleeping in his room.”

  “Did you wake him?”

  “Not right then, no.”

  “When did you wake him?”

  “When the sheriff arrived. I’d say eleven.”

  “And did you notice anything different about Edmund’s appearance from when you’d last seen him?”

  “You mean the scratches on his face and arms?”

  “Did you notice scratches on his face and arms?”

  “Had to. They was right there to see.”

  “He hadn’t tried to cover them with makeup or anything?”

  “Don’t think we had anything like that. It was just him and me. There wasn’t no women.” When the gallery smiled, Parker gave a sheepish grin and, for the first time, considered his nephew. His smile quickly faded.

  “Did he tell you and Sheriff Calloway how he got the scratches?”

  “He said he was working in the furniture shed and a piece of wood he was stripping got all bound up in the table saw and it splintered and cut him.”

  “What did Sheriff Calloway say or do?”

  “He took some Polaroids of Edmund’s face and arms and then he asked if he could look around.”

  “Did you grant him permission?”

  “I said he could.”

  “Did you accompany him?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you see the sheriff go into the furniture shed?”

  “Yeah, I saw him do that.”

  “And did you see him go inside the cab of the red Chevy?”

  “Yep, he done that too.”

  “Were you restoring that truck, Parker?”

  “I was.”

  “But you let Edmund drive it.”

  Parker nodded. “Yeah. He didn’t have no car and he took a liking to it.”

  “Was there carpet in that truck at that time?”

  “No. I’d stripped it down to the metal.”

  “Leather or cloth seats?”

  “Leather.”

  “One more question, Parker. Did you keep any black plastic in that truck, you know, for garbage bags, or maybe to lay over a garden in the winter?”

  “Didn’t have no garden, so no need for that.”

  “So you didn’t keep any in the truck?”

  “Not that I was aware of.”

  “Did you keep any at the house?”

  “You still mean the garbage bags?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. I composted most of the garbage. The rest I just piled up and when the pile got big enough I drove it myself to the dump in Cascadia. We don’t have no garbage service on the mountain.”

  Clark declined to ask Parker any questions, and Dan finished the day by calling Margaret Giesa. She was the CSI detective who had executed the search warrants on Parker House’s property and truck and discovered the Colt-pistol earrings in the coffee can. Giesa had retired and moved to a small town in Oregon with her husband, Erik, but otherwise she hadn’t changed much from the woman Tracy remembered from the first trial, still stylishly dressed and wearing the four-inch pumps.

  Dan put Giesa through her search of the property to reestablish what her team had found that day, and spent most of his time discussing the earrings she had found in the coffee can in the furniture shed and the strands of blonde hair recovered from the cab of the Chevy. He methodically walked her through the chain of custody. It was tedious and time-consuming but necessary to prevent any argument that someone had tampered with the evidence or switched it in the twenty years since Giesa and her team had found it and relinquished custody to the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab, where it had been stored.

  After Giesa had stepped down from the witness chair, Judge Meyers wrapped up the day’s proceedings. Concerned about the weather reports, Meyers provided his clerk’s desk number and said that, in the event that he had to postpone the proceedings, the court would establish a recorded message for the press and the public. When he banged his gavel, Maria Vanpelt and t
he other reporters made a beeline for Tracy, who moved just as quickly for the courtroom doors. There, she unexpectedly met Finlay Armstrong, who guided her into the hall past the blinding lights atop the cameras and escorted her down the interior staircase as the reporters hurled questions after her.

  “Will you comment on the proceedings, Detective?” Vanpelt asked.

  Tracy ignored the questions. Finlay guided her across the parking lot to her car, through snow that was nearly a foot deep in some places.

  “I’ll meet you here in the morning,” Finlay said.

  “Did the Sheriff ask you to do this?” Tracy asked.

  Finlay nodded and handed her a business card. “If you need anything just give a call.”

  No sooner had Tracy pulled from the parking lot when her cell phone rang. Though Dan had cautioned that trials were like marathons, and this had been only the first mile, she could hear from the tone in his voice that he was pleased with the way the day had gone.

  “I’m heading over to Pine Flat to visit Rex. Meet me there. We can discuss tomorrow.”

  Dan was with the veterinarian when Tracy arrived in the hospital, so she put up the hood of her jacket and stepped back outside, pacing the porch while checking e-mails and returning phone messages. The light had faded to dusk, the sky hidden beneath a low-lying fog that continued to spew snow and did not appear ready to let up anytime soon. The thermometer next to the frozen wind chimes indicated the temperature had fallen to twenty-four degrees.

  Tracy checked in with Kins. As she filled him in on the day, she noticed a car parked at the edge of a pristine, snow-covered field. The hood and roof of the car were covered in two inches of snow, but the wiper blades had recently cleared the windshield. It was too far for Tracy to see clearly, especially with the fading light and persistent snowfall, but she had a sense that someone was sitting behind the steering wheel, maybe a reporter. She was contemplating driving over to find out when Dan opened the door and stuck his head out. He was smiling, a good sign.

  “Are you trying to catch pneumonia?” Dan asked.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Come in and see for yourself.”

  Inside, Tracy was surprised to see Rex up and about in the reception area, though moving gingerly. He looked like something out of the circus, with a plastic cone about his head to keep him from licking his bandages. She put out her hand and Rex didn’t hesitate to come to her, his nose cold and wet in her palm.

  Dan stood beside the vet and his wife, explaining to Tracy, “We’re trying to decide what to do. I hate to leave him here, but I think it’s for the best, especially if I’m gone during the day.”

  “Not to worry,” the vet said. “We’ll take good care of him for as long as you need.”

  Dan dropped to a knee and took Rex’s big head in his hands. “I’m sorry, buddy. One more night, then we’ll get you home. I promise.”

  Tracy was moved by Rex’s troubled brow and Dan’s compassion. It was tough to keep her emotions in check as she watched the vet lead the big dog away. As they approached the door, Rex looked back, worried and forlorn, before reluctantly continuing. It was heartrending.

  Dan stepped quickly out onto the porch and Tracy followed him. The car that had been parked across the snow-covered field was gone. She looked for it, but the streets were empty. Dan’s Tahoe and her Subaru were the only cars in the parking lot. Across the field, smoke curled from chimneys atop the A-frame homes, and children bundled in hats, scarves, and gloves played in the snow. Otherwise, no one was braving the cold or willing to risk getting too far from home with the anticipated heavier snowfall.

  “I hate to leave him here,” Dan said, clearly emotional.

  “I know, but you made the right decision.”

  “It doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “That’s how you know it was the right decision.” She took his hand, which seemed to surprise him. “I think Rex and Sherlock are lucky you found them, Dan. And I think Roy Calloway now knows you’re not the pudgy little kid with the glasses that he used to bully.”

  “Pudgy? Is that what you thought of me? I’ll have you know that was undeveloped muscle.”

  She smiled, seeing in his face not only the boy who had been her friend but also the man he’d become—adept and strong enough to vanquish Roy Calloway, but sensitive enough to be brought to tears by one of his dogs. A good man, a man who’d been hurt and used humor to hide his pain, the type of man she’d hoped would someday come into her life. She’d been using the hearing to stall acknowledging her feelings for Dan because it had been so long since she’d allowed herself to become emotionally close to another human being, afraid that she could lose another person dear to her and not wanting to relive that pain.

  Snow stuck to Dan’s hair. “You were good today. Better than good.”

  “We’ve got a long way to go. Today was just about locking down Calloway’s testimony. Tomorrow is about landing the real blows.”

  “Well, I was still impressed.”

  He gave her an inquisitive look. “You mean surprised.”

  “Not at all.” She held up her free hand, thumb and index finger a fraction of an inch apart. “Okay, maybe just a little bit.”

  He laughed and squeezed her hand. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I surprised myself.”

  “Yeah? How so?”

  “It’s been a while since I was in a courtroom cross-examining a witness in a case that mattered. I guess it’s like riding a bike.”

  “Except that didn’t always go too well for you, as I remember.”

  His eyes widened with mock indignity. “Hey, it was one flat tire!”

  She laughed while continuing to consider how their intertwined fingers seemed like a natural fit, and imagining what his fingers would feel like caressing her skin.

  “Are you going to be all right in that motel?” Dan asked.

  “I won’t be eating anyone’s famous bacon cheeseburgers, but I’ll probably live longer for it.”

  “You know, not having you stay at the house had nothing to do with what happened to Rex,” he said. “I’m sorry. I was upset and said some things . . .”

  “I know.” She closed the gap between them, looking for a cue. When he bent down she rose onto her toes and met him halfway. Despite the cold, his lips were warm and moist, and she didn’t feel the least bit odd kissing him. In fact, it felt as natural as their hands felt twined together. When they parted lips, a snowflake landed on her nose. Dan smiled and brushed it aside.

  “We’re both going to catch pneumonia out here,” he said.

  “They gave me two keys to the room,” she said.

  She lay beside him in the sallow glow cast by the lamp mounted over the headboard of her motel bed. The snow had dampened all sound outside the room, and it was eerily silent but for the occasional hiss and tick of the radiator beneath the window.

  “You okay? You’re kind of quiet.”

  “I’m doing great. How about you?”

  He squeezed her close and kissed the top of her head. “Any regrets?” he asked.

  “Only that you can’t stay.”

  “I’d like to,” he said, “but Sherlock’s a big baby without his brother, and I do have to prepare for a fairly important hearing tomorrow.”

  She smiled. “I think you would have been a good father, Dan.”

  “Yeah, well, some things aren’t meant to be.”

  She propped herself onto an elbow. “Why didn’t you have kids?”

  “She didn’t want kids. She told me before we got married, but I thought she’d change her mind. I was wrong.”

  “Well, now you have your boys.”

  “And I’m sure one of them is getting anxious.”

  He kissed her and rolled onto his side to get out of the bed, but she reached for his shoulder and pulled him back down. “Tell Sherlock I’m sorry you were late,” she said, rolling on top of him and feeling him harden beneath her.

  After, she lay beneat
h the covers watching him dress.

  “Are you going to walk me to the door or just kick me to the curb?” he asked. She slipped out of bed to grab a nightshirt, surprised that she did not feel self-conscious standing naked before him. “I was only kidding,” Dan said, “though I am enjoying the view.”

  Tracy slipped the shirt over her head and walked him to the door. Before opening it, he pulled back the curtain and looked out the window next to it.

  “A media throng with cameras?” she said.

  “Doubtful in this weather.” He pulled open the door and she felt the chilled air on her still bed-warm skin. “It’s stopped snowing. That’s a good sign.”

  She looked past him. The snow had stopped, but recently, judging by the three-inch layer on the deck railing, and likely not permanently, given the cloud-darkened sky. “Remember snow days?” she asked.

  “How could I forget? Those were the best days of school.”

  “We didn’t have school.”

  “Exactly.”

  He bent and kissed her again, and goose bumps danced across her skin, causing her to fold her arms across her body.

  “Is that from me or the cold air?” Dan said, smiling.

  She winked. “I’m a scientist. Not enough empirical data yet.”

  “Well, we’ll have to change that.”

  She hid behind the half-open door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  His boots crunched fresh snow. When he reached the staircase, he turned back before descending. “Close the door before you freeze to death. And lock it.”

  But she waited until he’d reached the Tahoe and slid inside. About to shut the motel door, she noticed a car parked down the street—not the car so much as its windshield. It had been cleared. Once was odd. Twice was purposeful. If it was a reporter or a photographer, he was about to get the lesson of a lifetime about the perils of stalking a cop. She shut the door, quickly slipped on her pants, parka, and boots, grabbed her Glock, and pulled open the door.

  The car was gone.

  The hairs on the back of her neck tingled. She shut the door, bolted it, and called Dan.

  “You miss me already?”