A Cold, Fine Evil

by A. C. Alexander

  Logic told him Palmer would never be that stupid. His girlfriend had even called it in, frantic and so upset, Alicia Hahn was barely coherent. But it wasn’t like he was going to ignore the urge to arrest him for capital murder didn’t exist as a visceral response—aside, of course, of just walking up, pulling his service weapon, and killing him.

  It would be messy and he’d lose his job, go to prison, but maybe it would be worth it. He was pretty sure he’d lost everything else that mattered to him already.

  But he didn’t have one shred of evidence. On the off chance Palmer was innocent, if he sat in a jail cell, he’d lose the chance to find whoever was guilty.

  The county prosecutor was a friend of his from way back, before college, they came into contact on a regular basis during the course of their jobs, and he and his wife had been over for dinner a couple times so Lyle Danson knew Amy personally. Troy’s hands were shaking so violently, he saw with surprise since he felt such a deadly calm, that he could hardly get through to dispatch, but he managed it, and was connected to the courthouse.

  He told the assistant district attorney that took his call, “I want a warrant in the next five minutes. I don’t care what judge you have to bother, if he’s taking a shit, interrupt him anyway, got it?”

  “You are coming through pretty loud and clear, Sheriff.”

  “We’re talking serial murder. Tell Danson we found Amy’s car.” He consciously tried for control. He’d probably been too aggressive with his tone, but who could blame him? “He’ll make it happen.”

  He gave the address. It wasn’t like he didn’t have it memorized.

  Troy looked up the hill at the cabin Palmer had rented and knew there was no way he should do this interview, but no way in hell anyone could stop him. If Palmer walked free because he made mistakes, he’d have to live with that, and the thought of it was worse than his empty house and that blood-splattered car, but he was going up that fucking hill.

  Hammond had also just ended a call. He was pale. “Crime scene on its way, and the state police are sending detectives.”

  Troy made a conscious decision and took out his weapon, extending it butt first. “Take this. I don’t trust myself with it right now, for what I assume you know are understandable reasons. I’m going to go interview the man who found the car, the one that has known my wife since high school, the one that I’m afraid is responsible for all the blood.”

  Peter didn’t look happy, but he accepted the Glock.

  Troy ended that little speech by saying, “I really want to kill someone right now, and he’s number one on the list.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  * * * *

  “Troy is going to arrest me, or at least take me in.” Jon looked impassive, sitting in the chair by the windows, his long legs extended, his eyes distant. “My history with Amy bugs him, he now has a window of opportunity, and he’ll take it.”

  Alicia was devastated already, the sight of all that blood so horrifying she’d never be able to erase the memory. As it was, she’d walked three steps away from the vehicle and thrown up the cup of coffee she’d drunk that morning. “He can’t do anything if you didn’t do anything.”

  “Don’t be naïve.”

  “This is a country in which we have due process.”

  Jon’s pale blue eyes held cold pragmatic realism. “Alicia, please. Sure he can. He can detain me for twenty-four hours for questioning. He can plant evidence and he can hold a press conference to name me as a person of interest. So let’s face it, he can ruin my life even without a single shred of proof, and afterward just say…well, we didn’t have enough to bring up charges. Where does that leave me? Guilty in the minds of everyone following the case and let’s not forget that tombstone I can’t explain linked back to the other murder. They are going to nail me to the wall.”

  She was afraid he was right. That 911 call was a knee jerk reaction, but he hadn’t stopped her from making it. “I can testify that tombstone wasn’t here when we left.”

  “We’re sleeping together. Do you honestly think your word is going to carry any weight?” Jon sighed. “What’s supposed to be my defense? A ghost is carrying out a vendetta? It sounds stupid, even to me. Oh, right, I could admit I killed Larimer, which really won’t help a lot.” His voice softened. “But I appreciate that I know you’d help if you could.”

  He didn’t care enough what happened to him and it scared her.

  There were events piling up that told her he probably wasn’t responsible for what was happening, but he was definitely a part of it in some bizarre way. The face in the window wasn’t him, the man in the liquor store definitely not him, the headstone wasn’t his fault either.

  All of the rest of it, she didn’t know, but Jon’s return to Black Lake had something to do with what was happening.

  “Of course I would help.”

  He leveled a look her way. “Don’t fall in love with me, Alicia. Just don’t.”

  It was already too late for that. “Is that something a person can control?”

  “Everyone I’ve ever loved is dead. Father, mother, now Amy…we both saw that car, she’s buried out in these woods somewhere. Jesus Christ, I’m petrified for my children, but I’ll never bring them here. Not one time. The biggest favor I probably ever did for them was to leave them with Connie.”

  As much as she’d loved growing up in Black Lake, she was starting to agree with him. All of that blood…she liked Amy Walda despite their last conversation.

  Whatever else she might have said was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. Jon said without any emotion, “That’s our local finest, coming to ask me questions I can’t answer. I don’t know how her car got there, I don’t know anything about the tombstone and they are welcome to search.”

  “I take it you want me to answer the door.” Alicia got up.

  “I admit I’m not anxious for this conversation. If you hadn’t been here, I might not have called.” He sounded morose. “I think Amy is gone. Dammit.”

  That expletive was reassuring. It was no secret he disliked his ex-wife, but he was capable of remaining emotionally attached to his high school sweetheart. Woodenly, Alicia moved to the front door and opened it, and without a word, moved to the side so Troy and his young deputy could come in. If there was something appropriate at the moment to say, it escaped her.

  Troy Walda had loved his wife. He was hollow-eyed and there were lines around his mouth that weren’t there before, but she no longer saw him in the liquor store. Amy was a different story.

  She was why he hated Jon, and without thinking about it, Alicia moved to align her body in the path between them. “He would never hurt Amy, Troy.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve accused him of anything.” Troy’s eyes glittered. “Just need to have a small chat. When did you notice the car?”

  “I’m actually the one who noticed it.”

  She might not have spoken. Troy’s gaze didn’t shift from Jon. “There are several scenarios possible, but I think the most likely is that she voluntarily met up with someone who murdered her. Nothing at our house is disturbed. The front door was locked when I got home that night and realized she wasn’t there and her car was gone.”

  “So you immediately thought of me. All I have to do is show up in town and she’d forget she was married? That’s very flattering, Troy, but from what I recall of Amy, and mind you I haven’t seen her in years, is that she wouldn’t cheat.” Jon’s smile was thin-lipped. “And whether you believe this or not, I’ve never touched a married woman except my own wife.”

  “In addition to forensics on the car, we’ll be checking cell phone records.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Troy turned to Alicia. “The night I called and you were at the motel, what time did you pick up my friend Jon here?”

  “After my shift,” she said, not able to come up with a facile lie, since she had no idea what would help or hurt. Besides it would
be easy enough to check it out. “I came straight here. I thought I saw the man who looked in my window in the store and it upset me. That’s why we went to a motel instead of staying here or at my house.”

  The deputy was taking notes, letting Troy do the talking, but he asked, “The car wasn’t here then, ma’am?”

  She honestly hadn’t looked. And Jon had walked back from that direction. At least she could say with hoarse sincerity, “I have no idea. I wasn’t paying attention to anything like that. Like I said, I was upset.”

  Troy’s phone beeped and he checked it. “We have a search warrant for both your car and this cabin, Palmer. Don’t worry, it’s properly signed by a judge because there’s no way I’d let anything go wrong in this case if we found something so the fancy lawyer I’m sure you’d hire could get it tossed it out.”

  Alicia wasn’t an expert in how the judicial system worked exactly, but she was hardly an idiot. “On what grounds? That he knew Amy in high school and her car was found nearby?”

  She wished, with all her heart, she could say the words: We don’t even know anything has happened to her…

  All that blood. She got queasy again just thinking about it. She’d told the dispatcher that she vomited near the scene and hoped that information had been passed on. She had nothing to hide, but certainly didn’t want to be tied into this horrible series of what seemed to be escalating events.

  “On the grounds that my wife is missing, her car is covered in blood, it was found parked near his cabin in a remote area, and she has ties back to Jon. Second murder since he arrived back in town. That was all the judge needed to hear.”

  Jon hadn’t moved, still lax in his chair, almost chillingly composed. “Troy, you openly hate me. Who’s to say you won’t plant evidence just to get back at me? Deputy Hammond, I’d appreciate it if you’d note down I mentioned that. You won’t find a fiber, or hair, or anything like that in Amy’s car either to link back to me because I haven’t been in it. Show me a witness that ever saw us together. You can’t because we weren’t. Am I being detained? If not, I’d rather not sit here while you go through my underwear. Search away, but I’d prefer if an impartial party do it. Is that within my rights?”

  The deputy coughed apologetically and said to Troy, “It might not be a bad idea, sir. Let’s wait for the state guys. He’s right, and you’re right. Let’s make sure whatever might be found can’t be disputed in a courtroom if it should come to that.”

  All this time Alicia had stood there, paralyzed, struck by how much her sense of the world had altered.

  She also remembered asking Jon straight up if he had anything to do with Amy’s disappearance and he had answered: I doubt it.

  He’d warned her all along not to trust him. He’d made her promise she wouldn’t. She’d witnessed him murder someone, so she knew he was capable of it, but then again, he’d be stupid to do anything to her, and Jon was far from stupid.

  Troy took a moment, and it was through gritted teeth, but he finally said, “Go ahead and go, but not in your car and don’t take a thing. Go to Alicia’s house if you don’t want to wait through the search, so I know exactly where to find you. Leave this county and I’ll have your ass in jail so fast you won’t believe it.”

  “Here are my keys.” Jon dropped them on the table as he rose. “Hammond, I know he’s your boss, but I really hope you are able to swear in front of a judge if anything turns up, you watched him the entire time.”

  As they got in her car, Alicia asked quietly, “What did you do with the tombstone?”

  “Nothing.” He buckled his seatbelt.

  “Nothing?”

  Jon’s face was pale and resolute. “It was gone when we walked back up from finding Amy’s car. If you want to run away as fast as possible from this train wreck, I don’t blame you.”

  She thought about the man with the scarred face in the liquor store, then she thought about Larimer Hansen following her that night many years ago and witnessing his murder, and shook her head. “I think I might be in this whether I want it or not.”

  Chapter 18

  I didn’t doubt I’d get caught.

  It’s an old-fashioned term, but there’s always a time for a reckoning. I knew it long ago, and didn’t ever believe I would escape unscathed.

  The reckless path is a destination to suicide. There are few to ask, but I doubt any who have walked it would argue with me. In essence, by killing others, I killed myself, and I accept the responsibility for it.

  There’s a load of irony associated with it.

  One black death was hardly justice. I should have died many more times.

  George answered his phone, seeing his sister’s number on the display. “So what did you think of the latest chapter?”

  Being given medical leave had allowed him to make real progress on his novel. He didn’t have anything else to do besides drink and watch television. To his delight he was even forbidden to rake leaves, so the house was the disgrace of the street until a couple of neighbors came over and did it for him, not probably out of any true liking for him since he was hardly all that social, but so his leaves didn’t keep blowing into their yards or piling up in the gutters.

  He did go out with an apologetic smile and thank them though, explaining it was doctor’s orders, hoping they wouldn’t remember he’d been pretty lax about it ever since he’d moved in, no heart attack involved.

  She said crisply, “Your detective hero is still too weak. And the heroine, while normally too stupid to live, evades the murderer like she’s suddenly a magician and rocket scientist all rolled into one. Not believable. I made notes and corrected the numerous grammatical errors.”

  He was sure she had. At times he wasn’t positive who was writing this book. She could be one picky bitch, but she might be right. So he said lamely, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Have you talked to Troy today?”

  No, he hadn’t. “I assume he’s pretty busy with an unsolved murder on his hands and his marriage falling apart.”

  “You know I have a friend whose niece is a dispatcher for the sheriff’s department. I believe they’ve found Amy’s car and it looks like a crime scene.”

  So there it was. Worst case scenario.

  His tone was subdued. “I wish that surprised me.”

  He meant it. He’d liked Amy.

  “I always thought Troy was marrying out of his league,” she muttered. “I assumed she’d moved on. Our cousin isn’t my favorite, but she was nice enough I suppose.”

  She didn’t like Troy very much and it came through in her voice. What’s more, that Amy had been pretty and popular bugged his sister. She was more like him. A little dumpy and academic. He’d accepted it, but as a psychologist he thought there was still a secret yearning in his sister’s middle-aged psyche to have been head cheerleader and Homecoming Queen.

  “What that has to do with anything escapes me. Listen, if you hear anything more, please let me know. I refuse to call Troy when he’s in the middle of this.”

  “Or maybe it’s exactly when you should call him.”

  She wasn’t willing to, so he disliked being lectured on it. “You are talking duty, not his welfare. You’ve never given a shit about him before. Get off the high horse.”

  But maybe she had a point, he decided a few minutes later. So he pressed a button and left a message. This is George. I heard something about Amy’s car. Call me when you have a chance if I can do anything to help.

  He went back to his manuscript, clicking on his computer. He couldn’t think about it. There were definite orders against too much stress.

  * * * *

  Jon accepted a beer because he sure as hell needed one, and sank down on Alicia’s couch. He had no idea what she was thinking, but at least she hadn’t dropped him off on the street corner.

  If she had, he wouldn’t have blamed her.

  “Someday,” he said, “I would like for the two of us to have a cheerful conversation. One that doesn’t i
nvolve Black Lake, or divorce, or multiple murders. Maybe something like; how was work today? Or should we order pizza and just watch a movie? How about let’s move to Mexico and take our chances with the drug cartels because it is hell and gone safer there.”

  To her credit, she didn’t ask him if they’d find anything in his car or the cabin. She might have more doubts than before, but then again, so did he. It wasn’t he’d say the blackouts were worse, but they happened. She looked at her beer bottle and then up at him. “You have money. Do you ever really think about running?”

  “No.” He tipped back and swallowed. “I tried that when I went to college and then moved to Chicago. It doesn’t work, at least for me. A new life doesn’t erase what went before. Well, I guess I can only speak for myself. Maybe it works for some people.”

  He did need to reconcile his emotions, and no one could do it but him, so he’d come home.

  Alicia looked introspective. “I can’t do it either. We’ve established I’m tied to this place. Do you really think Troy will try to frame you?”

  He’d considered it on the drive to her house. “I think he’d love it if I was guilty, but even if we don’t like each other, to be fair, I think he genuinely loves Amy. He’ll want to catch whoever did it if she’s dead, and if he just tries to implicate me, he isn’t accomplishing anything. Revenge maybe, but it won’t bring her back.”

  “Are you so sure she’s gone?”

  “Are you asking me what I think you’re asking?”

  When he’d first met her, she would have been horrified by that question. Look how much damage he’d done in such a short amount of time, he thought sardonically. Unfazed she said, “When I asked if you had anything to do with her disappearance, you said you doubted it, Jon. What am I supposed to think? I wouldn’t mind if you’d explain that. I’d like to think that at this point you and I need to be as open as possible with each other.”

  Fair enough. She deserved it. “I lose blocks of time now and then. I drink too much—you should know, you sold me the scotch, not that it makes any of it your fault, that’s just how my life seems to be right now. I only remember the night I killed Larimer in brief snatches. You could probably tell me more about it than what I recall. George would point out that selective memory is designed to protect me from a horrific event that, as a still developing adult, I shouldn’t have done or have to remember, but I can tell you flat out, I wish I remembered a little better.”