City of the Lost: Part Three

by Kelley Armstrong

  "Or not."

  A shared smile, and he nods, his gaze slightly downcast. Not submissive, just quiet and contained, neither overly friendly nor unfriendly.

  He sets the rag aside again. "I'm not blocking. Just working up to it. I'll tell you everything. It just ... isn't easy." He takes a moment, then a deep breath, and says, "So ... Abbygail. I would say what a good kid she was. Tough, strong, sweet, generous, all that. But everyone's going to tell you that. So I'll just say they're right."

  "Good kid ..." I say.

  "Yeah." He rubs his mouth. "That's not a slip of the tongue. When she arrived, she was nineteen. We started seeing each other a year later. I was twenty-five, and the youngest guy here. Which is why people thought we should give it a shot. Beth and a few others."

  "Eric?"

  A sharp laugh. "Uh, no. Definitely not Eric. He knew Abby wasn't ready. He didn't try to stop us, though, because she wanted to, and I ..." He rocks back on his heels. "This is going to sound shitty, but I gave it a try because she wanted to, so I thought I should. We were friends, and I wanted her to be happy."

  Which doesn't sound shitty at all. It sounds sweet. But I understand what he means, that he feels bad about dating someone he wasn't romantically interested in.

  He continues. "We went out for a couple of months. I can give you dates if that helps. It just ... it didn't go anywhere."

  "So you were lovers for two months."

  "Uh, no. When I say it didn't go anywhere, that includes sex. With her background, I just couldn't ... It felt wrong. Like I was taking advantage. It was dating. High school stuff, because that's what she was, detective. Inside. I don't mean she wasn't smart or mature, just that she never had the chance to grow up in a real way. It was like she skipped her teen years, and in Rockton she got them back. Which is one reason it didn't work. There might have only been a five-year age difference, but I felt like a creepy old man."

  "And the breakup?"

  "Mutual."

  "I hear you got together with Isabel about a month later."

  "Yep."

  "Was there any tension there? With Isabel and Abbygail?"

  He gives me a real laugh for that. "Not at all. Abby knew I was checking out Isabel even before she and I got together. She'd tease me about it. When Abby and I broke up, she's the one who told me to go for it with Iz. She liked her. They liked each other. Iz ..." He rubs his mouth again. "Isabel doesn't exactly wear her heart on her sleeve, but Abby's disappearance hurt her as much as anyone."

  My nod must not look entirely convincing, because he says, "You're wondering how they could get along, right? The bordello madam and the former teen prostitute? I know what you think of Isabel, but she really believes she's doing the best thing for the women here. No, not believes. Hopes. She wants to do the right thing by the women here and ..." He studies my look. "And you really don't want to hear that. Anyway, Iz used to talk to Abby about her experiences, advice on how Isabel could run a safe establishment. But those talks ...? You know what Iz did before she came here, right?"

  I shake my head.

  "She was a psychologist. She counselled Abby. Not officially. It was just talking. But it wasn't just talking, if you know what I mean. Iz wanted to help, and Abby needed help, so they talked, a lot." He picks up the rag and begins folding it again. "Which is the long-winded way of saying there wasn't tension between them."

  "Was there tension with anyone? For Abbygail?"

  "A few of the guys. I can give you a list. But it's a short one."

  "Eric says she didn't get bothered that way."

  "Guys were mostly respectful. But a few came onto her. She'd never tell Eric, or he'd go after them and then she'd feel like she'd tattled and overreacted. You know."

  I do know. It's exactly how I feel about telling Dalton who offered me credits for sex.

  "She wanted Eric to think everything was fine," he says. "With Eric ..." He clears his throat. "I don't like talking about her personal stuff ..."

  "She had a crush on him."

  He exhales. "Yeah. I'd tease her about that; she'd tease me about Isabel. I think, when she encouraged me to give it a shot with Iz, she was hoping I'd say the same for her and Eric. I didn't. Wouldn't. She'd have gotten hurt, and I never wanted to see her hurt." He crumples the rag and puts it aside.

  "Sheriff Dalton wouldn't have returned her attention."

  "Hell, no. If I felt like the old guy with the teenager, it would have been even worse for Eric. Like dating your little sister." He shudders. "Just no. I think Abby understood that. Most times. Every now and then ... Well, she'd wonder, and I'd steer her away. For her own good. For his, too. If she came onto him ... shit. That'd have been rough, knowing she saw him that way. He wanted to be her big brother, not her Prince Charming."

  I must smile at that, because he laughs. "Yeah, no one's going to mistake Eric for Prince Charming. But he was her knight in shining armour, however much he'd hate to hear that. He's a good guy."

  "I keep hearing that."

  "Yeah, Eric's fans and friends are a little too quick to support him. Mainly because we know what a crappy first impression he leaves. And second. And third. How are you guys doing?"

  "We had a rough start, but I'm starting to see the side that wins him fans."

  The smile grows. "Good. You two seem to be spending a lot of time together."

  "We're working a big case together."

  "Still ..." He catches my look. "Okay, I won't play matchmaker. You'll get plenty of that from others. So, back to Abbygail ..."

  "You were the last person to see her alive."

  He flinches, as if I've poked a wound that hasn't healed.

  "She was heading for the forest," he says. "I was over by the woodshed, hauling logs. It was after dark, and there was no way in hell she should have been that close to the forest. She said she'd heard an animal that sounded hurt. We scoured the area together and I had no reason to think she wasn't telling the truth, which makes me feel like a complete idiot, but honestly? Eric said don't go into the forest, so Abby didn't go into the forest. She'd tease and poke, but she never disobeyed him. I really did think she'd heard an animal."

  "But you didn't find anything."

  He shakes his head. "So I walked her home. Beth's neighbours saw us--they can confirm that. Abby went inside and everything seemed fine. Beth got home an hour later, after working late next door at the clinic, and when Abby wasn't there, she just figured we were out, and she went to bed. I think Abby grabbed a lantern and went back. She loved animals, and if she thought she heard a wounded one ..."

  "It's the only thing that would have drawn her into the forest."

  "But not far. Yes, she might wander in farther than she meant to, chasing a noise, but I can't imagine she'd go in deep enough to get lost. Someone lured her in. I'm sure of it. Others might tell you different, and maybe they think I'm just covering my own ass because I didn't manage to stop her. Either way, it doesn't cover my ass, because I was still the last ... the last to see her. I fucked up. And she disappeared."

  He goes quiet, lost in that grief, until I break it by saying, "You mentioned a list? Guys who gave her trouble?"

  He snaps from his reverie. "Right. Let me get a pen."

  I pass him mine, and he writes it out and hands it to me. As I go to leave, he says, "Abby would have liked you."

  I turn and look at him.

  He shrugs, a little embarrassed. "I was just thinking that. She had a lot of women here playing mother and therapist. What she didn't have was a female friend." He fidgets. "It wasn't the same with me, and sometimes I think maybe if she had another girl she could have confided in, about anything ..." He rubs the back of his neck. "I don't know. I'm probably being silly. We all keep wondering where we went wrong, thinking we missed something, failed to give her something, and if only this or that then maybe it'd have been different. Anyway, all I mean is that she would have liked you. You're a survivor. Like her."

  That gives me paus
e, but he only shrugs and says, "I was a cop, remember? I recognize the signs."

  I nod and start to go. Then I say, "Everyone presumes she's dead. You knew her, as much as anyone. Maybe more. Is it possible she's ..." I look toward the forest.

  "Still out there?" His gaze drops. "I wish it was, detective." He resumes polishing the bar, his voice rough with grief. "I really wish it was."

  Twelve

  Mick's list is indeed short. Three names. One is Pierre Lang. Abbygail had mentioned getting a "weird vibe" around him. A few times in her last month, she'd had the feeling she was being followed. Not stalking, just someone following her for a short distance, watching her. A secret admirer who'd left a bowl of wild raspberries outside her door. Mick had suspected it was Lang, but he'd figured Lang was just a middle-aged guy with a crush on an inappropriately young woman, and it would end when she didn't reciprocate.

  I'm walking to the station when Kenny catches up. He comes around once or twice a day. Just pops in to see what's going on, if anyone needs him for militia work. Today, he says he has a hot tip for me. Apparently, someone overheard Hastings badmouthing Dalton before he took off. Which is about as shocking as telling me the sun rose that morning.

  I'm thanking Kenny when Isabel intercepts us and shoos him with her fingers. "Stop bothering the new girl, Kenny. I know she's very pretty, but Eric didn't hire her for ornamental value."

  "I had a tip."

  "Yes, I'm sure you did. Now go."

  When Kenny leaves, I continue walking and say to Isabel, "If you have a problem at the Roc, Sheriff Dalton just headed that way."

  "Sheriff Dalton?" She laughs. "That's awfully formal. Are you and the boss not getting along, sugar?"

  I look at her, and I think about my talk with Mick, and there's a part of me that wants to cut Isabel some slack. But I get the feeling if I do, she'll use it to her advantage, and drag me into her battle with Dalton.

  I climb the steps into the station. "Is there anything I can help you with, Ms. Radcliffe?"

  "Ouch. All right. That cold front isn't for our good sheriff." She follows me in. "Do you want to talk about what I do?"

  "I don't think there's anything to discuss. You've found a way to turn a profit in Rockton. And in return, the rest of the women have to put up with being treated like we'll all whore ourselves--it's just a matter of finding the right price."

  "I think that's exaggerating--"

  "I've been here four days and I've still managed to be offered money for sex twice. That's not counting the guy who told me that if I ever need extra credits, he has some 'night work' for me. I'll just presume he wants me to come over after my shift and type his novel."

  "You're young and attractive. It's an anomaly."

  "And you know that how? Marketing research? Door-to-door surveys?" I shake my head and sit at the desk. "I can handle it. I'm sure every other woman in this town can, too, because it's not like most of them have had their self-esteem ground into the dirt by an abusive asshole." I look at her. "Right?"

  Her reply is slow, careful. "I think that while you have a very valid point, if you could let me state my case, you'd see that we're damned if we do and we're damned if we don't. This is one solution to a very serious problem."

  "That guys can't keep their pants zipped? That if you deprive them of women, they'll just take them? That's a hell of an insult to the men in this town."

  She sighs. "I'd like the chance to explain, Casey. That's why I came by. To invite you to lunch."

  "No, thank you."

  I notice Anders has come in. He's standing in the doorway. He sees me look up, nods, and backs out with a motion that he'll be back in five.

  "There are a limited number of professional women in this town," Isabel says. "Most of us work in menial jobs, just like we did down south. Those in higher positions should stick together."

  "I don't choose my friends by gender. Now, if you'll excuse me ..."

  She leaves without another word, and I return to my work.

  Anders returns and sets a Tupperware box in front of me. Inside are cookies.

  "I know," he says. "For cops it should be doughnuts, but we don't get those here."

  "I prefer cookies anyway." I select one.

  "Good, considering I probably need to score a few points after last night." He takes a cookie and the chair Isabel vacated.

  "I'm sorry about Diana," I say. "I should have walked away sooner. You guys didn't deserve that."

  He gives a half shrug. "I kinda did. I feel shitty about it. Before you arrived, we were at the Lion, with others, lots of drinking, she seemed fun and she's new in town and ... And that really doesn't make me sound any better, does it?" He shifts in his seat. "Diana's having some ... I'd say issues, but that sounds condescending. Cutting loose is fine, but with her it seems a little ..."

  "Frenetic?"

  "Yeah. Which I didn't realize at the time. So inadvertently I took advantage of the situation, and I feel bad."

  "Deputy," Dalton says as he walks through the door, "did you come in today to talk or to work?"

  Before Anders can answer, Dalton heads out the back.

  "Good morning to you, too, boss!" Anders calls. Then he says, to me, "Sometimes I wonder why he doesn't just walk around the building."

  "Not really an inside cat, is he."

  He smiles. "No, Eric's definitely an outside cat. If he's not prowling through town, he's sunning himself on the back porch."

  "Sunning himself? Or watching for prey?"

  "Much better analogy. An outside cat scouring the woods for predators and prey alike."

  I finish my cookie and then say, "About Di, I know she was a bitch last night, and I'm not apologizing for her. That was unforgivable. She obviously likes you and wants to see more of you. I'm guessing you're not interested."

  He exhales. "Shit. That sounds bad, doesn't it?"

  Actually, no. Given how she's acting, I don't want to see him mixed up in that.

  He continues. "In my defence, I didn't say anything to suggest I wanted more than one night. But I still feel shitty."

  "Don't. It was her mistake."

  "Thanks for not thinking I'm a complete asshole."

  "You aren't."

  I smile, and he opens his mouth like he's going to say something. Then the door opens. It's Beth.

  Anders gets up. "I'd better go do my rounds before Eric finds me still chatting. Hey, Doc." He lifts his hand to high-five her as they pass. The doctor makes a valiant, if awkward, effort to return it. Anders chuckles and keeps going.

  "Hey, Beth," I say. "Thanks for coming by."

  I wave to the chair. She stays standing.

  "I'm just popping in to see if you're free for lunch," she says.

  "Oh." I push my folder aside. "I thought ... Sorry, Eric knew I wanted to speak to you, so I thought he asked you to stop in."

  "That's a no for lunch, then?" She smiles, but there's a wariness there, like she's screwed up the courage to make a friendly overture and it's being rejected.

  "No, no. Lunch is good. Great, in fact." I check my watch. "I'm off in an hour. I'll come by then."

  I pick up lunch, and we eat in the clinic backroom that serves as Beth's office. My sandwich is peanut butter and saskatoon berry jam. The PB is freshly ground, from nuts flown in. The jam is made from berries gathered every summer.

  "Did Will ask you to invite me to lunch?" I ask as we eat.

  She stops mid-bite and checks my expression. When she sees I'm smiling, she returns it and says, "Maybe."

  "I figured that." Especially given that he left after hearing me turn down Isabel's invitation. "Helping me make friends."

  "Both of us, I think. Will's always trying to get me to mingle more. It's just not my thing. In college, I was the girl with her nose stuck in her texts from freshman year to graduation."

  "Well, don't let him make you feel like you have to be nice to the new girl."

  "Oh, I'm fine with socializing. Just not the kind t
hat ends with lampshades on your head, which seems to be the main form of entertainment around here."

  "Except there aren't lamps. Which makes it even more awkward."

  She smiles. "It does. You don't seem to be into that, but your friend ..."

  "Diana wasn't before she got here, either. But I'm glad she's enjoying herself while I'm busy with this case."

  "Which segues nicely from the awkward talk of your friend onto safer ground."

  I smile. "Maybe. I wanted to talk to you about Irene Prosser."

  Beth wipes mustard from her lips. "You're not buying the story she nearly hacked off her own hands?"

  "Not exactly."

  "That suicide ruling isn't Eric's fault."

  "I know. He's dealing with politics and angles and doing his best. I can see that."

  "He is. As for Irene, yes, it wasn't suicide. Do you need my autopsy report?"

  "I have it. I'm looking for observations that might not have gone into it. Specifically, proof of past injuries."

  Her lips purse. "Past injuries?"

  "Were there signs--in the autopsy or a previous medical examination--that she'd been the victim of abuse?"

  "Ah. I see where you're heading. Let me check her file." She wipes off her hands and starts to stand.

  "Eat first," I say.

  "No, you've set me on a mystery. The sandwich can wait. Do you know how to read an X-ray?"

  I follow her from the room. "You have X-rays?"

  "I take all the equipment as they offer it. One thing I use the X-ray for is autopsies. Not exactly standard procedure, but it's here, so I put it to use."

  She opens a locked drawer in the next room and takes out a file folder. An X-ray film goes into the viewer. There are five, covering Irene's full skeleton. I see signs of a previously-broken wrist, but nothing more.

  "That's actually a childhood injury," Beth says. "I remember she hurt her wrist last winter, falling on the ice. She was concerned it broke again--once you've done it, it's very easy to do again."

  I squint at the X-ray. "I'm not seeing any other signs of old breaks."

  "Neither am I. Is that significant?"

  "Just an angle I'm pursuing."

  "In other words, mind my own business." She fends off my protest. "I'm sure Eric told you to keep me out of the loop for my own safety. He's very protective."

  "Ah," I say as I remember Anders saying Beth often brought dinner for Dalton when he worked late.