Bone Dust White

by Karin Salvalaggio

Warren puts a hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “Have you called your wife yet? You don’t want her hearing about this from anyone but you.”

  Gareth’s eyes start to well up. He rubs his face. “I’ll do that now.”

  Out in the corridor Macy tries to fall in step with Warren and ends up trotting.

  “I came across a guy named Brian Camberwell yesterday evening. He was here visiting his wife. I showed up just after he whacked Jared on the side of the head.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. Are you figuring him as a suspect?”

  “According to Jared he was away when Leanne was killed. Ice fishing or something like that. I think we should do some further checking, though.”

  “Brian weighs at least two hundred fifty pounds, and as far as I remember he doesn’t smell.”

  “Does he have a record?”

  “No, but he should have one.” Warren lowers his voice. “He’s assaulted his wife on more than one occasion.”

  Macy pictures Hayley. She’d looked so vulnerable standing next to her husband. “Why doesn’t she report it?”

  “I have no idea, but she’s going to end up a statistic if she doesn’t do something soon.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He’s probably dealing, but I’d say he’s pretty small time. He’s not too bright so it’s kind of surprising he’s not been caught yet. He somehow manages to stay just below the radar.”

  Macy puffs out her cheeks. “Did they find any prints up at the house?”

  “There was a partial on the back gate, otherwise it was clean.”

  “That’s not much to go on.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  *

  Macy stares up at the cross above the altar in the hospital chapel and tries to be patient. According to the officers stationed at the door, Grace Adams has been on her knees praying for a half hour.

  Macy slides into the pew next to Grace and picks up a copy of the Book of Common Prayer. “Grace, I’m sure Sam will be fine. You’ve done enough.”

  Grace scoots up onto the bench seat and drops her hands on her lap. Her eyes are raw from crying. Macy hands her a tissue and waits.

  “I feel like it’s my fault.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not responsible any more than Sam is.”

  “I didn’t see his face. It was covered with a black ski mask.”

  “Like the one your mother’s killer wore.”

  “I think so.”

  “Was it the same man?”

  “It’s hard to say. It was dark and I didn’t have a great view. I had to peek through the crack between the doors. Sam was in the way most of the time.”

  Macy thinks of the shattered glass and splintered wood. “It’s probably a very good thing Sam was in the way. Did you think he looked the same size as the man in the woods?”

  “Maybe, the distance was different. He seemed tall.”

  “What about his voice?”

  “It was kind of high in pitch. He sounded really nervous.”

  “Did his voice sound familiar?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “What was he saying?”

  “I didn’t catch most of it, but he did yell at Sam to get out of the way.”

  Macy puts a hand on Grace’s arm. “Warren will send in a detective and they’ll take a full statement from you. I’ll go check on Sam and let you know how he’s doing.”

  Grace thanks her before once more clasping her hands together in prayer.

  13

  The elevator doors open on three and Carson is standing in front of Jared, a shit-eating grin on his face. Jared moves to the side and Carson squeezes into the crowded elevator.

  “Darlin’,” cracks Carson, tongue firmly in cheek. “Which way are we going today? Up or down?”

  “Down. The meeting is canceled. Want to grab some breakfast?”

  “So I rushed to work for nothing?”

  “Looks that way.” Jared and Carson step out of the elevator on the second floor and head for the cafeteria. “The sixth floor is a mess.”

  “Yeah, I heard Sam got shot.” Carson grabs a tray and shuffles along the line with Jared.

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  No sooner have they taken their seats than Lexxie appears, breathless and beaming from ear to ear. She sits in the chair next to Jared and takes hold of his arm. “What did you think of your surprise?”

  Carson sips his coffee and winces because it’s too hot. “You should know by now that Jared hates surprises.”

  “Well?” she says, ignoring Carson.

  Jared hesitates. He can’t afford to be as honest as Carson. “It’s not that I didn’t appreciate it. It just seemed a bit too much.”

  Lexxie’s laugh fails to convince. “I’m sorry, I guess I got a little carried away.” Her pager goes off and she reads the message. “I have to go. Everything is a mess here today. Did you hear that Sam went nuts and tried to shoot a cop?”

  “Don’t go saying stuff like that. Gareth didn’t get shot, Sam did. The poor guy just got out of surgery.”

  She lowers her voice. “Well, that’s the story that’s going around.”

  Carson scowls. “You of all people should know that most of what’s said in this hospital is total bullshit.”

  “What do you mean me of all people?”

  “You’re a smart girl, you’ll figure it out.”

  She reaches over and steals a piece of toast off Jared’s plate. “I’m going to ignore you, Carson,” she says, taking a bite. “So Jared, enlighten me, what actually happened?”

  “I have no idea. I wasn’t there.”

  She throws the rest of the toast back on the plate and gives him a quick peck on the cheek. “You’re tired. We’ll talk later.”

  “Yeah, I’ll call you.”

  Carson waits for Lexxie to leave the cafeteria before speaking again. “What’s she going on about?”

  Jared no longer feels like discussing what happened. “Lexxie shouldn’t go around saying that stuff about Sam.”

  “I imagine she’s not the only one. So, what did happen?”

  “It looks like someone came after Grace Adams. They knocked Gareth out and took his gun. When Sam got in the way, he was shot.”

  “Where was Grace when all this was going on?”

  “Thankfully, she ran.”

  Carson leans back in his chair and folds his arms. “All that happened on the sixth floor?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “Speaking of insane, do you want to know what Lexxie’s surprise was?”

  “She’s pregnant?”

  “Don’t even joke about stuff like that.”

  “So what did she do?”

  “Cleaned my house.”

  Carson’s spoonful of granola freezes midair. “Did she clean up your bathroom?” He puts down his spoon. “Seriously, did she clean up where Hayley…”

  Jared says a quiet yes and attempts another stab at his breakfast.

  “Damn, that’s some serious bunny-boiler behavior.”

  “My life is a fucking mess, but at least my sheets are clean. To top it off Hayley’s dad followed me home.”

  “Have you seen his latest commercial?”

  “Came on while we were watching the game.”

  “They showed it like five times. My kids already know the words to his new jingle by heart.” Carson starts singing, but so low that only Jared can hear him. “Do you think he writes this stuff himself?”

  “Apparently his first love was musical theater. Inheriting a used car dealership from Pamela’s parents must have been a bit of a setback.”

  “So what did Hayley’s old man want?” Carson gives Jared the once-over, noticing the bruise on the side of his face. “It looks like he popped you pretty good.”

  “Brian did that.”

  “Now there’s a guy that shouldn’t be left to wander freely.”

  “Brian is a fucking criminal and ev
erybody in this town knows it. Toby and Pamela are practically offering me their used car empire if I take Hayley back.”

  “What do you want?”

  “What do I want?” Jared looks up at the ceiling. “I have no idea.”

  Carson raises an eyebrow. “Existential crisis?”

  “Something like that. I sure as hell don’t want to run a used car dealership.”

  “I imagine the commercials would take on a darker tone.”

  Jared pushes his plate away. “You know Grace Adams hid in the men’s locker room last night?”

  “Down in the basement?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why would she hide there?”

  “She was scared. I doubt she was thinking straight.”

  “Maybe she was looking for you.”

  “Nah, she just needs a friend, that’s all.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Carson checks his pager and pushes out of his chair. “We’ve got a call out at the trailer park. We’d better scoot.”

  *

  As expected there’s a sheriff’s patrol car parked out in front of a double-wide unit, but even before they step out of their rig, Jared knows something is amiss. From inside the mobile home comes the sound of children screaming. A man dressed in nothing more than a white T-shirt and a pair of boxers runs out of the house and leaps off the porch. He’s covered in blood splatter and yelling something over his shoulder Jared can’t catch. It’s only when he comes around the side of the police car that Jared realizes the man is carrying a gun. Jared hears Carson shout Jesus but it’s far too late. The man is already on top of them, his gun trembling in a shaky fist.

  Jared eases his EMT response kit to the ground. When he stands again he raises his arms up high and nods at Carson to get him to do the same. All the while Jared is looking over the man’s shoulder back at the trailer, scanning for more threats or someone hurt. The kids are still wailing but no one else has followed the man out into the yard.

  The hand with the gun jumps around, pointing first at Jared and then at Carson. The man doesn’t seem to notice the cold. His bare feet are blue-veined and dirty black against the snow-covered sidewalk. His eyes dart around and his mouth looks like it’s working hard to form words but as yet nothing has come out. For a moment it appears that he’s forgotten he’s got a gun in his hand before he once again points it at Carson.

  Jared clears his throat. He’s spotted a gray-haired neighbor with a rifle trained on them, and the last thing he wants to happen is for him and Carson to get caught in the crossfire. He clears his throat a second time and the man in front of them shifts the gun in Jared’s direction. It’s then that Jared can see that it’s standard police issue. Jared cocks his head to the side, gesturing to the mobile home.

  “Those your kids in there?”

  The question confuses the man. He blinks a few times and his dark eyes shift back to the house from which he’s just escaped. He takes the time to dig wax out of his ear with his index finger before answering.

  He stutters when he speaks. “Yeah, they’re mine … That trailer is mine.” He points the gun at the pickup truck trapped in the covered driveway beyond the sheriff’s patrol car. He starts laughing but it doesn’t sound like he’s happy. “And that’s my truck too.”

  Jared pretends to admire it. “Nice truck.”

  The man is near tears. “Damn nice truck. All paid for too.”

  “You got a name?”

  “Brady,” he says, low and polite. “Brady Monroe.”

  “Well, Brady Monroe, you should know we’re paramedics.”

  Brady scowls. “Course I know that. I ain’t stupid.”

  Jared backtracks slowly, though he wants to sprint. “Nobody’s saying that you’re stupid. It’s just that me and my buddy Carson ain’t got no guns. We’re just here to help.” Jared looks down at Brady’s shirt. “You’ve got blood on you. You hurt?”

  Brady rubs his left hand across his T-shirt like he’s trying to hide the stains. He shakes his head.

  Jared directs his gaze at the trailer again. “If you’re not hurt, then maybe there’s someone inside that could use our help. Like I said before, we’re just here to help.”

  Brady sweeps his gun from Jared to Carson. “You can go in,” he says to Carson, before training the weapon on Jared again. “But you’re staying here.”

  Jared decides Carson is about to pass out. He does his best to speak to his friend as calmly as he can but he knows he’s not fooling anyone. “You go on in and see what you can do. We’ll just stay right here and talk some more.” He tilts his chin toward his breast pocket and tries to catch Brady’s eye. “Mind if I smoke?”

  The man is watching Carson so Jared keeps quiet until the door to the mobile home closes. He has mixed feelings about having Brady’s attention again.

  Jared asks once more. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t. Secondhand smoke’s a killer. Sets me to coughing.” He holds his gun up higher and starts crying. “Been after my wife to quit.”

  Jared can hear the sounds of police sirens in the distance. “You hear that?”

  Brady casts his eyes about like he’s trying to find an exit, but comes up empty. “Reckon they’re coming for me.”

  Jared purses his lips. “Got anything you want to say?”

  “I didn’t do what she’s said I did.”

  Jared already thinks he knows who she is but he asks anyway. “Who’s she?”

  Brady gestures toward the trailer. The children have stopped crying. “My wife.” He holds the gun with one hand and runs his fingers through his greasy hair. He’s bone thin and his scraggly beard is peppered with gray. The gun is by his side pointing at the ground and the man is shifting his weight from foot to foot. “It’s cold out here.”

  “Damn cold.”

  Brady Monroe regains focus. “She’s saying that I did it. That I killed Leanne Adams.”

  Jared doesn’t know quite what to say to that. He hesitates, picking out little movements in the distance. The police and armed neighbors have surrounded the trailer. He knows there are guns trained on them from everywhere. He thinks there might be a dead cop inside the trailer and that everybody with a radio knows about it. Brady Monroe is as good as roadkill, and he might be too if things don’t go well.

  Out of ideas, Jared asks the obvious question. “Well, did you kill her?”

  Several times Brady opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. All Jared can see is bad dental work and a cyst the size of a marble on the man’s tongue. Brady yells so he can be heard from quite a distance. “Hell, no, I did not kill that woman.” He points the gun at the trailer. “That bitch in there wants the kids, the trailer, and my truck. She wants everything.” His voice trails off. “Well she ain’t gonna get none of it now.”

  Jared fails to swallow with his bone-dry throat. “So why don’t you tell me your side of the story?”

  Brady levels the gun at Jared again. There are tears streaming out of his eyes. They dampen his pockmarked cheeks, catching in shallow craters that glisten like tiny silver coins on his leathery skin.

  Jared tries to speak again but he stutters over simple words. His legs may buckle beneath him any minute. There are little sounds and movements all around them—the cocking of rifles and the low crackle of radios. In the distance he picks up the thumping of helicopter blades coming from the direction of the hospital. He’s hoping it’s not a ride he’ll need to take.

  A foamed outline of spittle forms around Brady’s dry lips. He licks them with a papery tongue and Jared imagines the scraping of sandpaper on flesh. Brady looks as if he’s trying hard to work out his thoughts so he can make himself better understood.

  “That’s the thing,” Brady says, laughing and crying all at once. “I lose the kids either way. I lose everything no matter what. That bitch knew she had me. I bet she was smiling like a pig in shit when she called the police.”

  “That bad?”

 
Brady nods and bites into the fleshy part of his thumb pad. His nails are broken and black. He leans in and Jared fights the desire to lean away from the stench coming off him.

  “You see, me and a couple of guys got a lab out near where Leanne died. I was working there that whole day.” He looks around and gasps like he’s only just realized what has brought him to this point. “I can’t go telling the cops that. Now, can I?”

  Jared can see the problem clear enough. He tries hard to breathe, think, and force out words in a logical order all at the same time. “This is the time to make things right. The past is past. You need to figure out how to move forward with what you’ve got.”

  Brady isn’t listening. He wipes his nose across his shoulder. “I can’t believe Leanne was stupid enough to show her face around here again. Damn near ruined everything, as far as I can tell. After what she did there was no way he was gonna let her live. No way at all. Taking all that money. Crazy bitch.”

  “I’m worried about your kids,” says Jared, trying again to make headway. “They need to know that it wasn’t you that killed her. You need to put down the gun so we can go talk to them.”

  Brady seems to see the sense of this and for a few seconds the gun stops jumping up and down. “I still have nightmares about those girls we brought over here. Especially the young ones. It wasn’t right what we did. But I wasn’t like the others. I swear I never did what they did. Never. It’s important that my kids know that too.”

  Jared lowers his voice. This isn’t what he was expecting to hear. “What girls are you talking about, Brady?”

  Brady raises the gun to his mouth and shoves the barrel deep into his throat using both his hands. Tufts of coarse black hairs line the backs of Brady’s fingers, the hairs blunt and thick like they’ve grown back after being shaven or burnt. Brady’s hands and forearms are lined with deep blue veins. His nostrils tilt upward and inflate like tiny inner tubes. He muffles his words into the gun’s barrel. Greasy tears stream down his cheeks and he repeats himself several times, growing more desperate with each pass, but Jared cannot understand a word he’s saying. Jared says pardon me several times, leaning in because he really means it. Jared wants Brady to keep talking. He wants to understand.