Deadly Lies

by Chris Patchell

  The dogs went out first, and Alex could hear barking as he walked around the small cabin. A thorough search of the interior had turned up no other visible signs of Natalie. The forensics technician was busy lifting DNA samples from the couch. Hairs were bagged, stains were being sampled and cataloged, photographs were being taken, and there was growing certainty in Alex’s mind that they would find more evidence to link Honeywell to Natalie’s disappearance.

  The crisp air stung his cheeks as he stepped out of the cabin with Jackson. Together they followed the path the dogs had carved up the hill. Neither man spoke as Alex felt his shoes soak through, and the cold began to numb his toes. The air was fresh, infused with the subtle scent of snow and pine trees. On any other occasion, Alex would relish being out in the woods. But now he burrowed his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and mentally plotted the dimensions of the ten acres of land belonging to Honeywell’s uncle.

  How many times had Honeywell and his uncle hunted in these woods? How far could he drag a body up the hill?

  Alex continued to follow the trail cut by the dogs. The paw prints drew them deeper into the dense line of trees. He was not sure how far they had walked when the sound of the barking grew frantic. The local police officers had come to a stop and stood pooled around a stand of trees, talking softly as they looked down into the snow. Their words were drowned out by the furious barking of the dogs.

  Alex’s stomach clenched. He hunched his shoulders against the raw wind as he continued forward. The officers glanced toward the Seattle detectives, careful to avoid eye contact. The cluster parted as the two approached.

  Jackson stopped first and looked down at the frozen ground, his bowed head dipping a fraction lower. Alex approached slowly, his eyes magnetically drawn to the spot where the dogs had concluded their search.

  A surge of electricity raced along his nerve endings, and he fought to control the emotions on his face.

  There, at the base of a tree, he could see blue fingertips poking up from beneath the thick blanket of snow, like the petals of a periwinkle crocus. The edge of a yellow “Livestrong” bracelet barely crested the crusty surface. His pulse pounded in his ears.

  Natalie.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Tucked up against the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, the snowcapped finials of Liberty High School looked picture-perfect on this frosty November afternoon. With the help of the Winthrop Police Department, Alex and Jackson had made the rounds, interviewing some of the people who had known Honeywell back in the day, and this was their last stop.

  The antiseptically clean smell of the school brought back distant memories of textbooks, backpacks, and basketball as Alex sat wedged into a student desk. Jackson stood leaning against the wall, arms folded across his massive chest, forgoing the opportunity to either destroy a desk while trying to fit his considerable frame inside its improbable dimensions or dismantling it on his way out. Alex stared down at a copy of Honeywell’s school records: mediocre grades, spotty attendance. Given what he already knew about Jerry, it was the type of account he had expected to see.

  The principal had passed them along to Mrs. Nelson, a middle-aged teacher with a freckled nose and thick glasses. She set an open yearbook on the desk in front of him. The shinning faces of high school seniors peered out from the neat rows of photos. He picked Honeywell’s out in an instant. Middle of the page. Jerry’s face was partially obscured by a thatch of long blond hair. He did not smile for the camera; his face was devoid of expression.

  “What can you tell me about Jerry Honeywell?” Alex asked.

  The woman shrugged her soft shoulders, eyes looking past Alex, as if envisioning a teenage Honeywell. Her smile was distant as she spoke in a pleasant voice, subtly infused with a midwestern twang.

  “There was more to him than what you’d find written in this file. He was a smart kid. You might not get that by looking at his grades, but he had an aptitude for language and arts.”

  “How well did you know him?”

  Mrs. Nelson shrugged, and Alex could see curiosity magnified through the thick lenses of her glasses. Even in a town this small, it would take a few hours for news of Natalie’s dead body to spread. Instead of satisfying her own interest, she answered the question.

  “About as well as any of his teachers.”

  “Did he have family?” Jackson asked.

  “Mr. Gibson took him in after his father was imprisoned. Talk around here was that his father had killed his wife’s lover after catching them together. Crime of passion.” Her eyes flashed scandalously at the two detectives. This information dovetailed with what Alex already knew. Honeywell’s father had died in prison.”

  “And the mother?”

  “She abandoned Jerry a few months later. No one quite knew where she took off to. There was some talk about her shacking up with a new man. There was also talk about her mending fences with her family in Baton Rouge. They were wealthy, you know. They disapproved of Jerry’s father—maybe Jerry, too. Lots of talk, though no one knows for sure.”

  “Did Jerry ever see her again?”

  “Not that I’m aware. She never came to Winthrop, that’s for certain. Something like that would have surely caused a stir.” She chuckled softly to herself. “No wonder the boy was quiet. He had a lot of family history to live down.”

  “What classes of yours was Jerry in?”

  “I taught him English in his junior year.”

  “What was he like?”

  “Like I said, he was a smart kid, but he didn’t work to his potential. He only showed up for half of his tests, so his grades were low. He sure could write, though. I had the students spend the first ten minutes of each class journaling, and I always enjoyed reading Jerry’s entries.”

  “Why? What did he write about?”

  “What does any teenage boy write about? Wanting to be somewhere else, mostly. Unlike most small-town kids, it wasn’t the bright lights of the city that Jerry craved. He dreamed about cruising the open road on his motorcycle and traveling to remote places. He drew some pretty sophisticated sketches of his motorcycle in the pages of his journal, as I recall.”

  “Do you still have a copy?” Getting to know Jerry through his writing might be insightful. The artistic inclination could fit in with the photo-editing and steganography software they found on his computer. But any hopes he had were dashed with the wagging of the teacher’s head. Her faded red curls brushed the collar of her starched white shirt.

  “Long gone, I’m afraid.”

  “Anything else you remember about him?”

  “Well, there was one person he was close to.” Mrs. Nelson leaned in closer, angling the book toward her for a better look as her eyes skimmed the rows of smiling faces. Her finger landed on a photograph at the bottom of the previous page.

  “Lisa Cullen.”

  Jackson left his perch on the wall to hover over the book for a closer look. Alex stiffened as he looked at the photograph. The hairs on his neck stood on end. The girl in the photograph looked sixteen or seventeen years old. With her long blond hair and blue eyes, she was the spitting image of Natalie Watson, minus the glasses.

  “Did they date?”

  “Yes, through most of their final two years. I swear that if it hadn’t been for Lisa, Jerry would not have finished high school. The only time I ever saw him smile was when he was looking at her.”

  Alex stared at Jackson. You would have to be blind to miss the uncanny resemblance between the two girls. Maybe if they could find Lisa, they could learn more about Honeywell.

  “Is she still in the area? We’d love to talk to her.”

  Mrs. Nelson shook her head, using her index finger to poke her Coke-bottle glasses farther up the narrow bridge of her nose.

  “I’m afraid not. Her parents moved when Lisa was halfway through her senior year. Jerry closed down after that.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “California. Santa Rosa, I think. Can’t be sure though.
It was a long time ago.”

  Alex traded another look with Jackson. Was Lisa part of the reason Jerry had gone to California?

  “And Jerry stayed here?”

  “For a few years, anyway. The garage fell on hard times, and when his uncle died, Jerry left town.”

  “Thanks for your time,” Alex said. “Can I get a copy of their pictures? I’d also like whatever information you have on Lisa Cullen.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Abby’s wide, frightened eyes stared up at Alex as she answered the door. Without thinking, he reached out and grazed his fingers along the soft curve of her cheek. It was meant to be a gesture of comfort, but the twist in his gut as their eyes locked served as a warning that he was crossing into dangerous territory. He dropped his hand away and followed her inside.

  Joyce sat hunched on the living-room couch, Tom close at her side, a supportive arm circling her narrow shoulders. Abby perched beside him, anxiety etched into the lines of her face. Alex searched for the right words, but they wouldn’t come. With a heavy heart, he cleared his throat.

  “Honeywell’s uncle owned a hunting cabin in Winthrop. We found …” Seeing the tears in Abby’s eyes, he faltered. “We found Natalie.”

  “Is she?” Tom asked, in a ragged, breathless voice.

  Alex nodded. Joyce wailed. Her shaking hands covered her face. Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs. Tom clutched her, burying his face in the curve of her back. Abby sat still as a stone, rigid with shock.

  “I’m so sorry,” Alex said.

  Abby blinked, her eyes huge in her pale face filled with anguish. She raised her shaking hands to cover her face. Alex rose and took a halting step toward her. He wanted to comfort her, to find some way of making this nightmare fade. But he could do nothing but stand stupidly by.

  At last, Abby spoke. Her voice trembled with the force of her emotions.

  “Find him, Alex,” she said. “Promise me you’ll find him and make him pay.”

  All the way home, Abby’s words rang in his ears. He’d promised. It was the one thing he could do for the Watsons now.

  The remnants of a fire burned low in the grate as he stepped through the front door of his house. All was quiet. Jill must have gone to bed. Draping his coat over the back of a chair, he crossed through to the kitchen and poured himself a tumbler of scotch. Neat. No need for ice or other niceties. Not tonight.

  Glass in hand, he turned toward the door to the living room but then pivoted back to grasp the bottle and take it with him. Slumping into the leather chair across from the fire, Alex poured himself another three fingers of Scotch. Orange flames licked the charred logs as he heard the jingle of dog tags.

  Molly approached, head down, tail wagging gently behind her. She stopped by Alex’s feet, and he scratched her ears. As if sensing his mood, she circled twice before settling at his feet.

  “Hey.”

  “Jesus,” he said, almost jumping out of his skin at the unexpected sound of Jill’s voice.

  “Sorry, maybe I need to start wearing dog tags, too.” Her smile was wry as she settled on the coffee table. Her skin glowed in the soft light from the fireplace. She studied him with a thoughtful gaze.

  “Rough day?”

  “Sorry I woke you.”

  He took a sip of his drink and glanced back toward the smoldering fire.

  “You didn’t. How are you doing?” she asked, perching on the arm of his chair. Alex set his glass down on the end table.

  Reaching around him, she rubbed his knotted shoulders. He rolled his head back, feeling the tensions in his shoulders ease.

  “You know?” he asked her.

  “Jackson called.”

  Alex sighed. Picking up his glass, he took another long pull of whiskey.

  “We found Natalie’s body buried in the snow.”

  “Snow?” Jill’s fingers stilled but remained on his shoulders.

  “Outside a cabin in Winthrop. That’s where we found her.”

  Jill was silent for a long moment before she resumed the massage.

  “How’s the family?”

  “About how you’d expect.”

  She leaned back. He could feel her eyes on him, and when it was clear that she wasn’t going to move away, he looked at her.

  “And how are you?” she asked again.

  “Just another day, right?” He shrugged, taking a drink. The words sounded hollow. False bravado at its finest.

  “Yeah,” she said, taking the drink from his hand and depositing it on the coffee table. She moved off the arm of the chair and onto his lap. Her arms wound their way around his neck, and her warm body pressed against his. Her hair smelled like jasmine, and the hard, icy shell that had formed around his heart started to crack. His hand slid across her back, feeling her sharp shoulder blades jut underneath the smooth cotton tank top.

  Jill pulled back far enough to tilt her face up, her lips brushing his in a gentle kiss. His body’s response was instantaneous. He cupped back of her neck, and he kissed her hard. The horror of the day faded as he pulled her close. He felt his need, his hunger, rise. All thoughts of Abby were pushed aside as he pulled Jill close.

  Tonight he just needed her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  “OMG Jill, call me,” the instant message read on Jill’s computer monitor. It was from Rachel, in the San Jose office, pinging her with what she could only assume would be news about Jamie. Jill’s heart lurched in her chest, its rhythm accelerating to double time.

  Directing her gaze out the office window, she stared down at the gray waters of the ship canal below, waves crested in white peaks. The barren trees outside her window swayed, brittle branches flailing in the furious wind.

  Three days had passed since she left Jamie in his icy grave. Each passing hour was agonizing as she waited for news. Surely someone had found his frozen body in the snow. Dana Evans? A neighbor? Her fingers trembled slightly as she dialed.

  Rachel picked up quickly, her voice a little breathless.

  “Is your door closed?”

  “Yeah,” Jill said. In fact, she had spent most of the past few days canceling meetings and burying herself in work within the quiet sanctuary of her office, claiming to be under the weather.

  “What’s up?” Jill asked, doing her best to adopt a light, casual tone. There was a momentary pause on the other end of the phone.

  “I’m not even sure how to say this. Jamie is dead.”

  Jill pressed shaky fingers to her lips, and she struggled to find words.

  “What? How?”

  “You know he was at his cabin in Tahoe, right? Well, he apparently slipped on the ice on the back deck and fell down the stairs. They found his body last night.”

  “Was he alone when he died?” she asked. Her back was rigid, and her hands clenched convulsively around the receiver as she waited for Rachel’s response.

  “Apparently so. Get this—Dana Evans found him. I told you something was going on between them.” Rachel clicked her tongue before pulling in a long breath. “Talk about freak accidents. Anyway, I thought I should let you know. The announcement is due to go out any minute, and I didn’t want you to get blindsided.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jill swallowed hard and closed her eyes. Her head swam for a moment, and she could see Jamie’s sightless eyes glaring up at her from his snowy grave. Her throat ached, and she struggled to draw in a shaky breath.

  “You still there?” Rachel asked at length.

  “Yeah,” Jill stammered. “Just shocked, you know. Never expected …” Her voice trailed off. “How does something like this happen?” She had to ask the question. The extra time she had taken to clean up after herself should have paid off, but there were no guarantees. The cold fingers of fear closed around her heart, choking out whatever guilt she might have felt.

  “From what I understand, it was a freak accident. The investigation was pretty clear-cut.”

  Jill could feel the pounding of her puls
e slow perceptibly at the revelation. She straightened in the chair and directed her gaze out the window, watching the boats bob on the choppy water.

  “Life has crappy timing, you know?” Rachel’s voice trailed off.

  “How so?” Jill’s senses snapped back to high alert.

  “Well, so close to his promotion and all. I mean, he had accomplished so much. Strange how life works out sometimes.”

  Jill managed to say something she hoped passed for agreement. “I’d better go,” she said at last. “I’ll want to be available once the announcement goes out.” She barely heard Rachel’s response before she hung up.

  Scarcely an hour later, the email announcing Jamie’s death landed in her in-box. Few details were provided. The message focused on the unexpected tragedy and expressed sympathy for Jamie’s friends and family. From an organizational perspective, the executive team would need some time to figure out the necessary changes. Jamie’s boss promised to forward the details for the memorial service as soon as he could.

  Jill’s fingers rested lightly on the keyboard. She read the announcement for the third time, thinking about how ritualized the ending of a life was. All those decisions about the funeral, the coffin, the service, and the graveyard.

  She closed her eyes. Unwelcome memories flooded back in a rush. Two polished coffins, one long and one short, flanked by a kaleidoscope of flowers at the front of the church. Her stepfather’s drawn face. The sidelong glances of friends and strangers cast her way. The feeling that she might suffocate in the oppressive silence of the house, left alone with her stepfather.

  In the days that followed, the office was quieter than usual. Team members went on with their work, bugs were fixed, and Jill uncovered the source of the software slowdown. The project was back on track.

  Early Monday morning, Jill flew to San Jose for the memorial service. Not to do so would have raised questions. The mood in the chapel was somber, and the procession of prayers and speeches passed in a blur as a deep numbness settled over Jill. Only the sight of Jamie’s younger brother gave her a jolt. He looked like a smaller, younger carbon copy of Jamie.