He kept thinking about Rachel being out there somewhere, allowing someone to take her fingerprints. He really wished she hadn't agreed to do that. At this point, anything they gave the police might be used to direct guilt. What was Rachel thinking? Her fingerprints were going to show up on that machete, too.
Time seemed to drag until Noah began to wonder what had happened to Snowden. He didn't know exactly how much time had passed because he'd given up wearing a watch in prison and hadn't reestablished the habit since his release, but it had to be going on an hour. Was this some kind of strategy of Snowden's, to leave Noah locked up in this little cell-like room until he went so stir-crazy that he was willing to confess, confess to anything, just to get out?
At last Noah heard someone unlock the door, and he turned expectantly. It wasn't Snowden, but the officer who had come for the woman cop earlier. "The chief would like to see you in his office."
"His office?" Noah questioned. But he hurried toward the door. "I understand my wife is here. Do you think you could—"
"She's already in with the chief," the Hispanic officer said. "Come with me."
Snowden now wanted to see him in his office instead of the interrogation room? He had Rachel in his office? What the hell was going on here?
The officer led him down a corridor and pointed to a door left slightly ajar. Noah pushed it open hesitantly, but when he saw Rachel sitting in front of Snowden at his desk, her face ashen, he rushed to her.
"Rachel—"
"Noah." She came out of the chair, reaching out to him. "They've arrested Mattie."
"What?" Noah wrapped one arm around her. "I don't understand." He looked to Snowden, trying hard to keep his temper. "You and I discussed this. I told you there's no way Mattie is capable—"
"They found something in his room in the barn," Rachel interrupted, clutching his arm. She suddenly sounded close to tears. "It's bad, Noah."
He took one look at Snowden's solemn face and walked her back to the chair, forcing her to sit.
Snowden pushed a book sealed in a plastic bag across his desk toward Noah. "This yours?"
Noah picked it up. "No. It's not mine. I don't own any Bibles anymore."
"The officer found it in Mattie's room in the cellar."
"What officer? Why was anyone in Mattie's room? I didn't give anyone permission to search my property." He took a step toward Snowden behind the desk, panic fluttering in his chest. "You have to have a warrant to search my place without my permission."
"Housekeeper told my officer he was free to have a look around."
"What officer? When? You mean to tell me that someone went back to our place after I was brought in, after Rachel agreed to come and let you fingerprint her?"
"The officer was just told to have a look around the outbuildings. Your employee gave him permission to go into the barn."
"An employee, exactly. She had no right to give anyone permission to trespass on my property."
"It's not Consuelo's fault, Noah." Rachel slid to the end of the chair but remained seated. She was trying to calm him, warn him he needed to remain reasonable. "She was trying to help."
Noah continued to hold the Bible in the evidence bag in his hand, amazed by its weight, but not so much its physical weight as the weight it levied on his heart. "Mattie has hundreds of Bibles," he argued. "He builds things with them. You know that, Snowden."
Rachel laid her hand over Noah's. "There's been pages torn out of it. Verses cut from it," she said softly.
It took a moment for her meaning to sink in. "No," he whispered. "That's not possible. What verses?"
"The ones our killer quoted," Snowden answered. "A whole page on adultery is missing, and cut from Exodus is 'Thou shall not steal.' Then there's a verse missing from a page that says something about if your right hand causes you to sin, it should be cut off, snipped out of the book of Matthew."
"That's not possible." Shocked, Noah set the Bible down on Snowden's desk. "Mattie can't read. He couldn't possibly have known what verses to cut out. He doesn't even understand what adultery is. He couldn't..."
Noah suddenly felt off balance. It was as if one more belief he had held to be truth was crumbling in front of him. Mattie couldn't have done those terrible things... he thought wildly. Could he?
"My officer brought the Bible in, but he didn't search the remainder of the barn. I'd like your permission to search the rest of your property, Noah." Snowden hesitated and then went on before Noah had time to respond. "I understand how hard this has to be for you, for you both." He shifted his gaze to Rachel and his eyes seemed to soften. "But if Mattie has committed these murders, I know very well you don't want him anywhere near that beautiful little girl—"
"Where is she?" Noah asked Rachel suddenly.
She drew her hand down his arm to comfort him. "She's fine. I just called and checked on her. She's worried about Mattie, of course, but she's OK. She and Consuelo are making fajitas for dinner."
Noah couldn't resist a bittersweet smile at the thought of Mallory standing on a chair beside the housekeeper at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables for dinner. She was so precious to him. It frightened him to think that Mattie could have done these terrible things, and he had allowed him to be alone with Mallory.
But he couldn't have killed those people. Noah's mind kept going back to that impossibility.
"We just want to have a look around, Noah." The police chief spoke to him as if he were Noah's friend. Of course, they both knew they would never be friends. "The weapon used in the Rehak case was never recovered. Forensics say we're probably looking for something like a baseball bat. Does Mattie own a bat?"
"I think I'd probably have noticed a bloody baseball bat lying around the place," Noah snapped, pacing behind the chair.
He wasn't sure what to do. Even if Mattie did do this, as beyond belief as that was, it was his responsibility to see that the man was treated fairly.
"Noah," Rachel chastised softly.
Noah looked to Snowden. "I need some time. Maybe I should talk to a lawyer for Mattie. Did you already have him brought in?"
Snowden nodded, almost seeming apologetic. "I had to. It's the most incriminating evidence found so far."
"You mean more incriminating than my fingerprints on the machete?"
"I'm just doing my job. It's not personal."
Not personal, right, Noah thought. He spoke his next thought aloud. "It wasn't personal when you dated my wife either, was it?"
"Noah, please," Rachel murmured.
Noah's gaze shifted to the man behind the desk. In all fairness, Snowden had neither done nor said anything out of line, not before Noah was released from prison and not since. "Is he going to have to go into a jail cell? He shouldn't be with other prisoners." The thought of Mattie in prison made Noah shudder.
"I already thought about that. I've got a call in to the state to see if we can put him in some kind of psychiatric unit, rather than sending him over to Sussex Correctional."
"Thank you. I appreciate that. Can I see him, just to make sure he's OK?"
"It might be easier for him if you don't. Not yet."
Rachel rose from the chair, reaching out to him. "Snowden says we can go home. I think we need to get back to Mallory."
"Of course. Right." Noah drew her under his arm protectively. "Can you hold off on the warrant to search the place until tomorrow?" He glanced at the institutional clock on the wall. "It's probably too late today for me to speak with a lawyer, but I'll put some calls in first thing in the morning."
Snowden hesitated.
"Look, you've got Mattie. If he really is the killer, time is no longer of the essence, is it?"
The chief of police thought for a moment. "I suppose we can wait until tomorrow, but you understand, any evidence you tamper with could make you an accessory."
Noah set his jaw. "That mean I'm no longer a suspect, Chief Calloway?"
He rose from his chair, and Noah had to admit he was intimidatin
g. "No, it doesn't. You're free to go, but you shouldn't be making any trips out of state right now."
"Come on, let's go." Noah ushered Rachel out of the office. "You know where to find me. I'll give you a call in the morning after I talk to a lawyer."
* * *
Delilah passed the Gibsons on her way into Snowden's office. He looked pissed, she just scared. Everyone nodded, but no one spoke. She felt bad for them, but she was glad that the evidence pointed toward Mattie, someone they had not considered before, and not Noah.
Delilah tapped on Snowden's open door and walked in.
"Nice work," he said. "Close the door."
She didn't like the tone of his voice. "Thank you."
"You sent Lopez back to the house after Noah was brought in?"
"I just wanted him to have a look around. The housekeeper gave him permission to go into the barn."
"Someone might argue that Officer Lopez entered that barn illegally, which would mean the evidence obtained is inadmissible in court."
"No way," she argued resting both hands on her hips. "I didn't screw up this case, Snowden. I might have broken it."
"OK." He sat down behind his desk. "So the Bible was in the room Mattie slept in."
"Well, yeah, he slept there up until a few nights ago. Housekeeper told Lopez the Gibsons brought him into the house to sleep in a downstairs bedroom. I don't know the whole story yet."
"Are you aware of Mr. McConnell's IQ?"
"No, but I understand he's... handicapped," she said, not sure where the conversation was going. "But I've heard people talk about him being some kind of musical genius or something. They say he can play anything on an organ, he just has to hear it once."
"Mattie's what's called an idiot savant. I grew up with him. We all did. Delilah, he is musically gifted, but he can't read or write. He can't care for himself."
"The mentally handicapped have killed before."
Snowden folded his hands. "Have they also miraculously developed the ability to read? How could Mattie have cut those exact scriptures out of that Bible when he can't recognize his own written name?"
Delilah pressed her lips together. "I don't know," she said. "And I know where you're going with this, but I'm telling you, Noah Gibson is not our man. Mattie McConnell might not be either, but I'll warrant you, we're closer to this killer than we were this morning."
Snowden exhaled, sitting back in his chair. "I hope you're right." He reached for his pen. "Because if you're not, in the very near future, the two of us might be seeking employment elsewhere."
Chapter 30
In silence, Noah and Rachel got into her Volvo parked behind the police station. It wasn't until they passed the welcome sign as they left town, which no longer seemed so welcoming, that Noah finally spoke up.
"I just can't believe this is happening. It's like a bad movie."
She glanced at him sitting beside her. Every muscle in his body seemed to be tense. This was a side of him she hadn't really seen before. "We'll get through it."
"Mattie did not kill those people. He couldn't have." He balled his hand into a fist and brought it down hard on the leather seat.
"I know." Keeping her eye on the road, she laid her hand on his fist. "But you have to stay calm. We need to think this through rather than letting our emotions get the best of us. I think you're right. We need to get Mattie a lawyer."
"I just feel so... so inadequate." He seemed to be talking as much to himself as her. "Mattie must be scared to death, and they wouldn't even let us see him."
"Snowden will make sure he's taken care of. No one's going to hurt him. And if he does have to be locked up somewhere, a hospital psychiatric ward would be much better than a prison cell."
"I know." He groaned aloud. "But it shouldn't be like this. Something isn't right here. I know Mattie didn't do this. You don't think he did it, do you?"
Rachel dared a quick glance at him. "No, I don't. But if he didn't tear out that page, cut those verses from the Bible, who did? Snowden said he would have to send the Bible off to a crime lab, but he saw the notes left by the killer. He's sure they were cut out of that same Bible. He recognized the print."
"An NTV published by Oxford," Noah scoffed. "Do you know how many of those are printed in the United States every year?"
"I understand that." She nodded, looking at him, then back at the road. "But it's too much of a coincidence that the very same quotes left at the crime scenes are the ones missing from Mattie's Bible."
"So someone's been cutting verses from one of Mattie's Bibles." He threw up one hand. "Hell, Rachel, three quarters of the people in this town know Mattie collects Bibles. A quarter have given him one. If you were a killer and you wanted to cover your tracks, wouldn't you cut your verses from someone else's Bible instead of your own?" He looked at her and then away. "I know I would!"
"Noah, you're right." She continued to speak softly, remaining composed. "I know that, but we have to stay calm. Being angry, lashing out at Snowden, at the police, isn't going to make this any easier, not for us and not for Mattie."
"I'm not lashing out!"
She glanced at him again, hesitating, unsure if she wanted to say what she was thinking. At the stop sign, she signaled to turn right instead of left to go home.
"Where are we going?"
"Noah, you're angry and you have a right to be, but you have to figure out how to deal with it."
"I'm not angry." He almost shouted the words and then, to her surprise, her relief, he actually chuckled. "OK, so maybe I am a little angry. And it feels so weird." He looked at her. "I was never an angry person before I went to jail. Not growing up, not through my teenage years, not even when the boys and Mom and Dad died."
"I know," she murmured. "Maybe that's why you drank."
"Why I drank?" He stared at her for a moment, then looked away, concentrating on the dark pavement rolling under the car. "What do you mean by that? You reading up on psychoanalyzation now?"
Rachel signaled and pulled over into the tall grass on the side of the road, refusing to be hurt by his biting comment. There wasn't any way she could hurt as badly as she knew he was hurting inside right now.
The shoulder where she pulled over wasn't wide, but there was usually little traffic that ran up and down this road, one of the reasons why she liked living on it. She slid the car into park, hit her flashers, and cut the engine so she could give him her complete attention.
"I wonder, Noah," she said, trying to choose her words carefully, "if that was why you started drinking so much. Because I never thought it was because of me."
"No, of course not." Quick to answer, he released his seat belt buckle and slid over closer on the bench seat. "Rachel, it was never because of you."
Tears stung the back of her eyelids, but she made herself look at him. If they were going to try marriage again, if they were going to have any chance at all, she knew she had to say it. Had to try to make him understand. "I think you were angry at God, maybe even at me, at the boys, at your mom and dad."
"Rachel—"
She pressed her fingertips against his lips. "Hear me out," she said. "I think you were angry at all of us, but mostly with yourself, and because you had never been an angry person, you didn't know what to do with those feelings." She fought the emotion in her voice, the sadness in her heart. "Looking back, I think you drank to drown the anger because you didn't know what else to do with it. You were always such a good person, so happy, that when those bad things started to happen, you didn't know what to do with them."
He didn't look at her, but his hand slid out and he took her hand. He stared straight ahead, through the windshield. "I haven't been this way since I came home."
She looked up at the curve in the road ahead of them, choking back her emotion. "I know. But maybe it's time to let this go, too. Accept your anger as a valid emotion, and forgive yourself for what happened here."
To this day, Noah couldn't actually remember what happened that night
, but in his mind's eye he had played it over and over again, until he saw it more vividly than a memory, as vividly as if it were a scene rerun again and again on a TV screen.
He was headed east, but had already passed the road into town. He had no idea where he'd been going. The beach, maybe. Most likely a liquor store outside of town. He never bought liquor in Stephen Kill. He was headed east in the truck; the Marcuses were headed west, for home. They'd been at her mother's house in Fenwick Island. Their two-year-old was asleep in her car seat in the backseat.
Noah lost control of the truck on the curve. He was going too fast. He couldn't stay in his own lane. Joel Marcus came around the curve in the opposite direction in his Dodge Caravan. They hit head-on.
Although he remembered nothing from the accident, in his mind Noah could hear the sound of squealing breaks, the impact, the breaking glass. Pattie had not been wearing her seat belt. In court, speculation was made that maybe she had unfastened it to reach back for the baby. Pattie was ejected from the car and died before the first emergency vehicle arrived on the scene. Joel suffered internal injuries from the impact, despite the presence of an air bag. He died on the operating table of a ruptured spleen. Only the baby, strapped safely in her car seat, survived without injury.
Well... and Noah. He woke the next day in jail with nothing more than an egg on his head. There was a theory that drunk drivers were rarely injured in collisions because they had such loose muscle tone that they just bounced around on impact. Noah had his own theory, and that was that death was too good for drunk drivers. They lived to be punished for the rest of their days with the knowledge that they killed another human being. One of God's sick little jokes.
God.
Noah's eyes filled with tears. No matter how he tried to get rid of Him, He was still there.
"Oh, baby, it's OK," Rachel whispered, scooting over closer to him. She put her arms around him.
"I'm so sorry," he murmured into her hair.
"I know you are."
"I didn't mean to hurt you." He choked on his words. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."
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