Dark Passing (The Ella Reynolds Series)

by Liz Schulte

  Bryan’s face pinched. “Nothing happened! She came to my house. We hung out like always; then she left. That’s all I know.”

  “That’s all you know? Did you know she was going to move away for college? Did you know the people she met at the university? Would she have gone to hang out with them after leaving instead of going home? Give me something, Bryan. You were the last person to see her. You can’t honestly expect me to believe that I‘ve been looking at this case for all of two minutes and I already know more than you?”

  “You don’t know anything,” he shouted suddenly.

  I leaned back and tried to keep the satisfaction out of my voice. “Temper, temper, Bryan. Did she tell you she was leaving and you snapped?”

  “Fine. We had a fight. Is that what you want to hear?” He clenched his fists and his eyes filled with tears. “She changed. She stopped answering my calls and coming to see me. She was leaving me behind—and I was the last person to know about it.”

  I almost—almost—felt bad for the kid.

  “I told her if she moved, it would be over between us. She screamed that I didn’t trust her, that I didn’t understand her at all if that’s what I thought. She stormed out. That was the last time I saw her.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Try to remember, Bryan. It’s important.”

  He made a helpless gesture. “Sometime after 9:00 p.m.”

  “Did you talk to her again after she left?”

  “No. And I wouldn’t have answered if she called—but she didn’t. I was mad she wanted to hang out with the jocks and other posers, but I would never hurt her. I didn’t talk to anyone until Mrs. Nelson showed up.”

  Bryan didn’t look like a mastermind. “What do you think happened?”

  “She died.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, lady, I’m trying to move on with my life. I loved Mary, but she didn’t love me. I’m sorry she died, but—” He shrugged and stood up.

  “Can you give me a list of her friends? The new ones and the old ones.”

  He huffed a little, but eventually rattled off a list of names that I scrawled in my notebook.

  “Do you know Nikki Obermiller?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I’m trying to get ahold of her to ask about Mary. Can you tell her to contact with me if you see her?”

  “Yeah, whatever. I gotta go.” He paused at the door. “You seem okay. Whatever Mary got involved in, it got her killed. You should probably stay away from it.”

  “If I have any more questions, can I call you?”

  “Yeah, whatever,” he said again. The door clicked behind him.

  I leaned back in my chair. Hopefully the mystery girl from the café would have more information than Bryan. I studied the list he gave me:

  Nikki Obermiller

  Amy Armstrong

  Austin Burke

  Justin White

  Alfie Laurie

  The last name sounded familiar. I thought back over everything I’d done since I came here. Laurie, Laurie, Laurie… The dinner party flooded back. The politician and his wife, Lola, had said something about Alfie going to school nearby. Martha’s dinner party might turn out more useful than I imagined. I wondered how hard it would be to get in to see a district representative. Couldn’t hurt to ask. I hopped up from the chair and ran into Martha as I was headed out.

  “Hello, dear, how’s your investigation going? I was thinking about making a marinated pork loin for dinner tonight, if you’ll be home.”

  “Um, I don’t know exactly when I’ll be back. I have a meeting tonight, and I should really head back to the police station. I’ll probably grab something while I’m out.”

  “Oh…” The disappointment was heavy in her voice.

  I hesitated. Was I being ungrateful? “But tomorrow night I should be home. Would that work?”

  A wide smile spread over her face. “Of course. I should’ve asked. You’re very busy. Are you making any progress?”

  “Too soon to tell. I’ll see you later.” I waved over my shoulder as I headed down the porch steps. It took about twenty minutes to find William Laurie’s office. He greeted me with a smile and a firm handshake.

  “If it isn’t our author in residence. Ella, how are you enjoying our fair city? I hear you’re doing a signing at the bookstore.”

  I smiled. “Mr. Laurie, it’s great to see you."

  “Please, call me William.” Once we were settled in his office, he held out a bowl of candy. “Tootsie Roll?”

  “Um, no. Thanks.”

  “So to what do I owe this pleasure?” He folded his hands in front of him.

  “I was talking to some people today, and they mentioned that Alfie Laurie was a friend of Mary Nelson. It dawned on me that your son’s name is Alfie. Then it all clicked together. I wanted to see if I could talk to him about Mary.”

  “Ah… well… I don’t—”

  “I just want to get some quotes from all her friends and family for the book.” William looked like he was considering it. “It puts a human element to the story. You understand, right?”

  “I don’t see how talking to him could hurt. I’ll have Alfie call you tomorrow.”

  “I’m really hoping to speak with him in person.”

  “You can arrange that with him. I’m not sure about his class schedule.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Ella, I don’t know if you know this, but Alfie’s had some, well, problems. He’s straightening out his life. I’d hate for this to set him back.”

  “I’m not trying to hurt Alfie, I promise. I just want to know about Mary.”

  William nodded and shook my hand once more as I left. On the bitterly cold walk to the police station, I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of trouble Alfie Laurie had been in and if it was bad enough to get one of his friends killed. I knew one person who could tell me, but what would Sheriff Fagan make me do to find out?

  ****

  Fagan’s eyes were glued to me as I walked through the office back to my hole in the wall. Before I could even pull a box back up on the table, he was leaning against the doorframe.

  “You ran out of here pretty quick.”

  “Yep.”

  “You know the terms of our agreement.”

  I looked up, not following. Our agreement didn’t say I had to tell him everywhere I was going. “What?”

  “You’re supposed to give me daily reports, in person. I’m ready and waiting.” He tapped a foot while I stared.

  There was no way in hell I was going to share anything with him. All he’d done was fight me every step of the way. Why would I give him my evidence? For all I knew, he was the killer.

  “Were you thinking we should do the report over dinner?” He raised an eyebrow and lowered his voice suggestively. “That can be arranged, Ella.”

  I glared, but held on to the thin string of my temper. “I’d rather starve,” I said under my breath, then muttered at a more audible level, “I have plans and nothing to report.”

  He stepped into the room and pressed his hands to the table, looming over me. “That isn’t what we agreed on.”

  I made a loud, exasperated noise and crossed my arms. “I met Mary’s boyfriend today. He claims to not know anything. Everything he says agrees with the police report.”

  “And that’s all?”

  I nodded and imagined his head exploding as he talked down to me.

  He straightened slowly, with a hint of a smug smile. I met his gaze with the bored, blank expression I perfected after Danny died. It would be a cold day in hell before I let this weaselly, small-town politician stare me down.

  His eyes drifted and he gave the smallest of nods, acknowledging my victory. “Have a good evening,” he said softly as he walked away.

  His overly familiar attitude and constant blocking and micromanaging drove me insane. All of it made me think Sheriff Fagan had something to hide. I opened my notebook to the
sadly empty suspects’ page and entered Carter Fagan. I tapped his name with my pen a couple times, pondering why I’d added him—was it merely out of dislike, or was there an actual reason? Finally I decided that, dislike aside, I did find him suspicious. I just didn’t know why yet.

  I closed my book and returned to the evidence boxes. I rummaged around until I found Bryan Jenkins’s interview. It was on a VHS tape. Who still uses VHS? I didn’t have access to a VCR at the bed and breakfast or at home. I glanced up and scanned as much of the office as I could through my open door. Fagan appeared to be getting ready to leave for the evening. I hunkered down and pretended to be immersed in the autopsy report. After what I was sure was enough time for him to leave and drive away, I got up and stuck my head out of the room. There were a few people scattered across the desks, working and talking.

  I cleared my throat. The man closest to me jumped.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, frowning.

  “Is there a TV and VCR I could borrow?”

  He looked at me like I’d requested the moon.

  “She’s okay, Collins,” a young African American cop said from a few desks away. “Fagan had us set up the room for her earlier.” He grinned at me with warm eyes. “I’ll bring one to you.”

  I went back into the room and waited, checking my watch. I had two hours before I was supposed to meet the girl from the café. There was a faint knock on the door before the officer wheeled in a cart. He pushed it in front of an outlet and plugged everything in.

  “This should do it.” He glanced at the boxes and piles around me. “What are you working on?”

  “I’m researching Mary Nelson’s case.”

  His head tilted back and sympathy washed over his face. “I was there when the car was found. Those images will stay with me forever. You can’t imagine.”

  “The pictures are pretty terrible.”

  He shook his head. “The smell…” He grimaced. “No one deserves to go out like that.”

  “Did you know Mary?”

  “No. I hear she was a good kid, though.”

  “That’s the general consensus. Do you have any idea what happened to her?”

  He cracked his knuckles and studied me for a moment. “Things like that don’t happen in Jackson. I think it was some sick fuck, and she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You know?”

  Not a bad theory, but it left holes. Was too easy. Where’d she been between her disappearance and being found if the killer wasn’t a local? Wouldn’t someone passing through kill her quickly? “Possibly,” I said softly.

  “Why are you digging anyway?”

  “Mary’s mother asked me to write a book about her.”

  “Some things should be left alone.” He headed for the door. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he said over his shoulder.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jared Duke. You?”

  “Ella Reynolds.”

  Something like recognition flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything else. He went back out to the bullpen, and I inserted the tape in the player. The interview room popped onto the screen and jagged white tracking lines ran across the image for a few seconds. Finally it played. Bryan was led through the door by a uniformed officer; then a few moments later Sheriff Fagan walked in. The scene was all too familiar. A similar memory of Gabriel questioning me like that fluttered into my mind. Did I look as nervous as Bryan? The sheriff fired off question after question, repeating some occasionally, trying to trip him up. Fagan seemed volatile, almost angry. Bryan broke down in tears several times, but it didn’t stop Fagan. Did Gabriel push me as hard as Fagan pushed Bryan? I felt sorry for the kid. Seeing him as he was then, I recognized the layers of bitter protection he’d since lined himself with. The person I spoke with today, the indifferent guy who didn’t want to help me find Mary’s killer, wasn’t the person in that interview room. The crime, probably the public’s perception of him, and who knows what else, had changed him.

  I phoned Gabriel. He answered in his usual manner, but I ignored any attempt at pleasantries. “When you interviewed me after Danny died, how hard did you push me?”

  There was a long pause. “As hard as I needed to.”

  “But I didn’t know anything, so at what point did you stop and think, ‘I’m not getting anywhere with her?’”

  “What’s bringing this up?”

  “I’m watching Fagan interviewing Bryan, and he’s belligerent in his questioning.

  Gabriel sighed. “Every police officer interviews differently, and every suspect will be approached differently.”

  “Did I seem scared or nervous?”

  “No. You seemed numb and lost. It was hard to get you to focus, especially right after.”

  “Can I see the tape?”

  He was quiet for a long while. I wasn’t sure he was even going to answer. I was about to say hello when he said, “Why would you want to watch that, El? What good can come of it?”

  “I’m just looking for perspective, I swear. Apart from movies, I have nothing to compare this interview to.”

  “Bring it home with you this weekend, and we can watch it together. I’ll analyze it for you.”

  I wasn’t supposed to remove evidence from the room, and Fagan would burn me for it if he caught me, but I couldn’t exactly explain why I wanted an outside opinion to him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Are you still at the police station?”

  “Yeah. I have to meet some girl at a park at 8:00 p.m. She says I don’t know the whole story.”

  “What park? Who is she?”

  “Liberty Park. She never said her name.”

  “First off, never meet someone alone at night in a park unless you can bring someone with you—or, at the very least, get a name. Second, be careful and call me as soon as you’re finished.”

  “I will.” Gabriel was right. Had the girl looked imposing or like a strong wind wouldn’t knock her down, I probably wouldn’t have agreed to meet her at all, but she seemed so frail in her too-big coat. I tried to think of someone I could take with me, suddenly nervous. “Should I tell one of the patrolmen where I’m going?”

  “Does Fagan know about your meeting?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone you tell will tell him. You might as well bring him in from the start rather than burning a bridge.”

  I sighed. Obviously, the girl didn’t like Fagan or want to talk to him, given the way she ran out of the diner, but I also didn’t have a death wish. “I’ll figure something out. Are you still coming tonight?”

  “Depends on what time I get out of here. Regardless, call me when you’re done.”

  We said good-bye and I stared at my phone. What to do? What to do?

  Gabriel freaked me out enough that I brought Fagan into the loop. I stuck my head out of the office and Officer Duke was gone. I went to the front and asked Sergeant Jeffries for Sheriff Fagan’s phone number. He wrote it on a scrap of paper, and I called, worry twisting in my stomach.

  When Fagan answered, I jumped right in. “It’s Ella, hi. I’m meeting a potential witness in a park tonight, and I’d like it if someone could accompany me, but only to watch from a distance.”

  He sighed. “What time?”

  “8:00 p.m.”

  “And you’re at the station now?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be there in a couple minutes.” He hung up without saying anything further.

  I tapped my foot and chewed on my bottom lip. I called Martha to let her know where I was and what was going on, just in case Fagan was the killer and decided I was more trouble than I was worth. She was her usual bubbly self, but told me to take care of myself and bundle up. She’d have cocoa waiting for me when I got home. I smiled a little at her mothering. It had been a long time since I lost my mom, and it was sort of nice to have someone to call with things like this. I turned the interview back on and taped part of it with my cell phone. He said that I couldn’t remo
ve evidence, not that I couldn’t copy it.

  Fagan charged into the interview room minutes after I turned off the VCR, his eyes hard and irritated. “Was I not clear about what I meant by ‘keep me in the loop,’ Ms. Reynolds?”

  I narrowed my eyes. I was keeping him in the loop, more than I wanted to. “I told you about the meeting.”

  “Thirty minutes before. When did you set it up? Who are you meeting?”

  “I don’t know her name. She approached me and said she wanted to meet somewhere private. She’s high strung, nervous… I don’t think she trusts the cops.”

  Fagan leaned against the wall. “Probably a meth addict. You’re wasting my time.”

  “Could be, or she could know something.”

  “Where are you meeting?”

  “Liberty Park by the benches.”

  He threw his arms up in the air. “Of course you are. Have you been to Liberty Park?”

  “No.”

  “It’s all soccer fields, and closes at dark. The closest I’d be able to set up surveillance without being noticed is too far away to do you much good if you’re attacked.” He ran a hand through his hair and sat on the corner of the table. “Would you like a taser?”

  I considered it, but didn’t really want one. Knowing how jumpy I could be, I’d probably end up stunning an innocent late-night jogger.

  “No, that’s okay. If I see someone coming toward me, I’ll run to wherever you are. If I don’t see the person approach, then all the tasers in the world won’t help me.”

  “You’re going to wear a microphone”

  “I’d prefer not.”

  “I don’t really care what you prefer.” He raised an eyebrow, daring me to challenge him.

  “Fine. Make it quick. I’m going to be late.”

  ****

  I walked into the park fifteen minutes late. I couldn’t see Fagan but glanced at the tree line he’d said he’d be parked behind. It would be a pretty good run if things went sour. The flat fields stretched out in front of me, but it was too dark to make out much along the edges. As my eyes adjusted, I saw the dim outlines of goal posts and a shorter jumble I took to be the benches. The frozen grass and snow crunched under my boots and the bitter wind made me keep my head down. One thing I didn’t see as I trudged toward the benches was the girl. She could’ve been hiding off in the shadows or maybe she left when I didn’t show up on time. I flexed my fingers, trying to keep the blood circulating in my hands. The snow around the benches was undisturbed. I used my cell phone to light the area and didn’t see any footprints leading in or out. Maybe she was later than me.